Mesmerized
by supernaturaljunkiejude
Summary: After a difficult 'salt and burn' the boys go looking for a hunt. What they find in a small community confuses everyone until Dean engages that wonderful, quirky memory of his.
1. Chapter 1

Mesmerized 

Story line: Dean and Sam finish a difficult salt and burn and then go looking for a hunt. What they encounter in a small community confuses everyone until Dean engages that wonderful memory of his.

Spoiler: None

Author's Notes: _Here I go… my first attempt at multiple chapters and a totally original story line….My thanks to my dear Terry for being my guide and mentor as well as beta and to Kelly for her great suggestions…… Hope you enjoy!! _

Lowell Busbee's haunted estate 

"C'mon, Sammy!" Dean barked, voice edged with just a smidge of panic. "C'mon, for God's sake, hurry up!"

Sam moved with practiced speed and efficiency. Casting smaller things aside, he took the time to inspect and move larger antique pieces as he searched. He'd found no background on the haunted mansion despite extensive research. Not knowing whether he was looking for an entire body or not made the quest even tougher.

The attic reverberated as something large crashed into the wall, followed instantly by Dean's pained yelp of "Sam!" Dean caught momentary sight of Sam over one of the haphazard heaps of junk in the far corner of the attic and shot him a desperate, pleading look.

Sam responded with renewed intensity, throwing things with nearly as much speed as the spirit.

Dean doubled over with an explosive "Oof!" as he was struck in the stomach by a well-aimed metal coach lamp. Feeling as if he'd been kicked by a mule, he lowered his guard for a mere fraction of a second allowing the vicious creature an opening to strike again.

A large wooden picture frame slammed into his already bruised and dented shins, Dean flinched, hunching lower over his Remington, trying to figure where to plant the next round. The attic rafters shook from the double blast as Dean spotted the soft gray haze, forming once again into a more distinct shape. The ghost responded with a screech from hell.

As Dean paused to reload, he caught a barely perceptible glint from a corner near Sam. Moving into position as he closed the breech, he raised the shotgun once again. Something instinctual made him duck just as he triggered the first barrel.

Like a Frisbee thrown at blinding speed a three-foot tall raw-edged mirror flew from the distant wall and one corner embedded itself a solid two inches into the wall exactly where Dean had been standing. A myriad of shards showered down on him, cutting his cheeks and scalp. As the realization struck, that had he not ducked, he would have been decapitated, the look on Dean's tense face darkened.

Jumping to his feet, reloading as he moved, he screamed, "Sam! Now, dammit! Do something. Find that bitch!" glaring in Sam's direction for added emphasis.

The massive explosive boom from the flying mirror and shotgun blasts caused Sam to fall backwards toward a huge pile of old quilts and movers' pads. Instead of the soft landing he'd expected, the expression on his face quickly changed to one of surprised pain, as his head cracked hard on something solid, buried beneath the nondescript heap and his back was gouged by something beneath him.

Momentarily seeing stars, he rolled onto his side, struggling to get a foothold in the tangled mounds of fabric. Deciding hands and knees would have to do, he began frantically clawing his way through the moldy, musty mess the sounds of continued devastation raining down around them. Finally his long fingers hit the edges of an old steamer trunk as he ripped away the last of the quilts.

Damn it! Stupid friggin' thing's locked. Oh, no! Lock picks in the car! That damn bitch will kill Dean before I can smash this stupid piece of shit open!!

Suddenly remembering the cause of the bruised feeling on his back, Sam jerked his Glock from the back of his waistband, thumbed the safety and blasted the locks off of the trunk.

There was another resounding crash as the spirit sent a large, ornate armoire across the floor, slamming into Dean pinning him to the fireplace chimney. "For God's sake, Sam. Now!" Dean yelled.

Kicking the lid of the trunk open, the fetid odor exuding from a veiled shape in the container told Sam his search was done. "Got it, Dean! Just let me get the salt and gas!" he shouted triumphantly.

With an ear-splitting screech the spirit moved towards Sam, who was scrambling on all fours to get through the quicksand of material and reach his supplies. A loud report and Sam snapped his head towards Dean's position. He was relieved to see Dean with his shotgun squirt out from behind the armoire, flashing those beautiful pearly whites. "

"Rock and a hard place, eh, Sammy? Do your stuff, man, I got your back." He cracked the double-barrel open, removed the spent shells and reloaded almost too quickly for Sam to follow.

A few minutes later, Sam had completed the 'salt and burn' process. The spirit disappeared with a piercing screech and a few minutes later Sam victoriously kicked the lid shut on the trunk once the flames had done their job.

"Damn, Sam, I wish we had a bloodhound we could pull out of our bags at times like this. One of these days, a search is gonna kill one of us." Dean leaned against the wall and mopped his face with his free hand.

Sam winced at the thought, knowing it was a real possibility. The idea caused his stomach to clench, knowing that Dean always put himself in the undesirable role of decoy just to be certain Sam was in as little danger as possible. Even presenting his best college debate tactics, Sam was never able to convince his older, protective sibling to let him play target once in awhile. Sam sighed, knowing it was a losing battle.

Between the two of them, the hunters grabbed their equipment and lugged the trunk down to the garden. Tossing it into a hole left open after the recent removal of an old septic tank, Dean used the little Bobcat tractor in the yard to bury the sucker.

While Dean played with his over-sized Tonka toy, Sam dug his cell phone from his jacket pocket, making a quick call to let Lowell know that the property was now a ghost-free zone. He hung up just as Dean finished up and killed the motor.

"So who do you think it was, Dean?" Sam queried, nodding his head towards the burial spot.

"Don't know, Sam. Don't care. It was evil and now it's history. End of story."

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Sam grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Hey, man, that was Lowell on the phone. Man's a saint! I got a little perk I want to show you."

Sam moved across the expansive green yard followed at a short distance by Dean whose badly bruised shins and hips, slowed his progress considerably. They were headed towards what looked to be a never-ending wall of tall shrubbery.

"Come on, Sam. This is so not the time to play Follow the Leader. I'm tired, sore and dirty and all I want to find is a motel with hot water" Dean whined.

Sam paused at an opening in the six-foot wall of greenery and bowing at the waist, he extended an arm with a flourish, grinning. "Check this out, Dean. Lowell says the key to the place is under the planter on the porch. It's ours for a week!" Beyond Sam sat a neat little guest-house.

"Whoa, Sam. Awesome, dude! Seriously?" Dean grinned at the little stucco cottage. "You know maybe you should check me for a concussion. 'Cuz I think I'm hearing things, Francis, and seeing things." Absolute boyish delight glazed his eyes 'til the oozing gash on the back of his head brought a twinge of pain.

"Yeah, man, Lowell says there's a hot tub out back, plenty of food in the fridge and… cold beer and ….as a plus… five hundred bucks on the TV as a thank you. He also said he'd understand if we rejected the offer."

Dean grinned like a kid on Christmas. "Yeah, right! What's that saying? Never look a gift 'house' in the mouth?" He didn't even argue as Sam helped him up the stairs with a supportive arm around his waist.

"C'mon, Dean, let loose of the car keys and I'll get the car and our gear while you hit the shower. Lowell says there's a little service road back here." Sam snatched the keys and then concern fogged his voice. "Dean, hey, better wait on the hot tub 'til I check out that gash. The chimney was pretty jagged." With a glance at the back of Dean's head, Sam was gone.

Climbing from the shower and toweling himself off, Dean paused to glance around the handsomely done bath. He was so used to those dumpy little motel shaving mirrors that he was a bit stunned to see his naked image head-to-foot reflected on three walls done in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. As the steam cleared, he stood there actually giving his body a thorough once over for the first time in a long time. His body looked as he'd expected as far as shape went, thick muscular upper arms and forearms, wide shoulders with a broad chest also nicely muscled, and of course his pride and joy, washboard abs over smooth, narrow hips and a tight rounded butt over strong well-developed legs. None of this surprised Dean, with all workouts he and Sam got hunting, of course they were in top shape.

What did surprise him was the almost universal appearance of scars and bruising that covered the majority of his flesh like a roadmap. A normal everyday guy would have used that viewing as motivation to change his line of work. But Dean, frowning as his beautiful green eyes studied his bruised, scarred form, thought back in time to how those major scars were acquired – the possessed Sam who'd shot him in the shoulder, the car crash before his father was taken from him, a werewolf attack at age 17 that had almost gutted him, being thrown and bounced off numerous walls, rocks, or cliffs by many angry spirits, Wendigo claw marks on his back. He was a soldier, hunter, protector who fended off the many faces of darkness. In his mind's eye he also saw snapshots of the hundreds of people they had saved.

The muscles rolled and tightened in his handsome face, thick lashes closed momentarily over his weary eyes and when he looked once more at his image, he grinned a typical Dean Winchester award-winning grin, arched an eyebrow at 'that guy' in the mirror and issued a direct order, "Suck it up, dude," wrapped a towel 'round his hips and went looking for Sam, and clean clothes.

After Sam's shower, some quick stitches in Dean's scalp and some awesome roast beef sandwiches, washed down with a couple cold beers, the hunters slid into the life restoring waters of the hot tub…with audible sighs.

**Bristol, Wisconsin** Late afternoon

Coming back from Frank's, Dylan Waters trudged robotically up the asphalt driveway, skirting around the truck and motorcycle parked midway up the drive. Pushing the heavy garage door upward, he entered the sunlit garage paying no mind to the fact he had gashed his hand open on the broken bottom, bump strip. He mindlessly sidestepped his mother's car and headed deeper into the big garage.

Bleeding rather heavily, leaving a bright red trail back to his father's welding equipment, he un-strapped the portable-sized, full tank of acetylene from its dolly and, hefting it onto his shoulder, moved towards his younger brother's Mongoose bike.

Locating a carpentry hammer he shoved the handle down the front of his jeans and then moved on to the heavy bungee cords on the workbench. Laying the Mongoose on its side, he laid the tank on top of it and, using the bungee cords, strapped it to the bike frame with the valve and neck extended behind the seat. He stood his creation upright and started to shuffle a step backward. The top-heavy bike immediately crashed onto its side once more and in the process crushed Dylan's right sneaker beneath the heavy unyielding tank.

He grunted but registered no real pain. Using his injured and still heavily bleeding hand, he pulled the bike to a standing position and guided it awkwardly out of the garage, seemingly oblivious not only to the large jagged scrape he left down the side of his mom's beloved Lexus, but also to the several bones in his right foot that were now broken.

Maneuvering the bike with its homemade fuel tank down to the dock at the rear of their lakefront property was no easy task. The grassy ground was soft and somewhat bumpy and he had to exert great effort to keep the bike moving and upright.

At last, after a solid fifteen-minute struggle, Dylan clumsily guided his vehicle onto the wooden dock. Limping and not in total control of his injured hand he somehow managed to lower the bike and bulky tank into his small johnboat, scrambled in after it and punched the electric start on his trolling motor.

Steering the craft with his good hand he managed to pull the boat alongside the lake's stationary ski-ramp. He off-loaded the heavy bike and tank with difficulty and scooted himself onto the ramp as well, as the boat idled away unnoticed, motor still running.

Onlookers from other properties tried shouting to get his attention, but Dylan seemed to hear nothing.

Standing the bike up, he straddled it with great difficulty, the added weight and girth of the tank making it unwieldy. It was nearly impossible for his feet to get a decent purchase on the pedals, especially the broken foot.

Aiming the front wheel up the ramp, Dylan dragged the hammer from his waistband, swiped his hand 'round behind him and with two mighty blows knocked the valve and neck from the tank. The resultant thrust from the expelled acetylene gas propelled him so quickly that no one from other boats or on the shoreline could even react.

The entire contraption pin-wheeled, striking Dylan solidly as he was thrown like a ragdoll into the lake, drowning long before the first boat ever reached him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mesmerized – Chapter 2**

Lowell Busbee' s Estate 

By the third morning, Dean felt mended and rested enough to tackle the Impala. Smiling, and in his boxers after completing his baby's oil change, he set about washing and hand-waxing his sleek, black beauty. He was enjoying the solid, smooth feel of the glossy steel beneath his calloused hands. "She" was one of the few consistencies in his ever-changing life.

Sam quietly appeared with a couple of cold beers, and after handing one off, dropped into a porch chair. He sipped his beer watching his older sibling through half-closed eyes, snorting in amusement.

Dean turned, a mild challenge in his hazel eyes, "Yes? Any problem, here?"

Sam smiled, "Dean, man, you and that car! You take better care of that thing than you do of your own body!"

Dean paused, smirking, "Yeah, yeah. I know you may not agree, Samantha, but, hey, the last time I carried you piggyback you were what? Six?! If I had to carry you place to place now those freaky, long legs of yours would be dragging. We're talking serious road rash here, Dude! Give our trusty steed a little respect, huh?"

Sam laughed, shaking his head in friendly surrender, "You're right, Dean. She's part of the team."

At 10 a.m. on the fourth day of absolute freakish normalcy, Sam was unhappily scouring the internet. Sitting on the rear patio while an antsy big brother lounged almost dejectedly in the hot tub. Sam knew he had to find a gig, pronto. He wondered if Dean's feet were shuffling even underwater. Sam swore Dean's nervous pacing, that had started late yesterday, was going to drive him crazy. Sam had to admit that the 'normal' life wasn't all that great. They had to hunt it was in their blood. And right now, that blood needed an adrenaline boost.

Noontime slid by disguised as some 'killer' rare steaks and a few beers. Dean resumed pacing wearing a track in the grass beside the patio. Suddenly a yelp escaped Sam's lips. Jumping to his feet, the chair hit the deck with a thud. "I think we got a gig!"

Dean spun around grinning in his direction, nearly drooling in anticipation. "Way to go, Sammy! I'll get dressed and get the car packed to go."

"Don't you want to hear about it, Dean?"

"Hell no, you can fill me in on the way. How far?"

"About four hundred miles." For once Sam's eyes were glowing nearly as fiercely as the older hunter's at the simple promise of a hunt. Grinning with boyish enthusiasm, he added, "I'll toss together a few roast beef sandwiches for the road, jot a quick note to Lowell, and we're out of here."

Sam and Dean were so happy just to be on the road again. Dean was overjoyed that for once he was actually finding an oldies rock station with a strong signal. He cranked up the volume just in time for the opening riffs of Metallica's "Wherever I May Roam". Even Sam joined in singing along with what could have been their theme song.

Other than a "damn, I hate being stuck in bumper-to-bumper fifteen miles per hour traffic" delay for some rerouting, due to a section of road resurfacing, the journey wasn't moving along too badly. Except for a momentary panic when Dean saw the detour signs. It was times like that when Sam was amazed at his brother's vocabulary. Once no rough gravel or oily country roads materialized to try to soil or spoil the rocker panels on the freshly washed Impala, Dean settled down.

Sam had learned many years ago to remain calm and quiet at times like that, what John had teasingly referred to as his 'Silent Sam' mode whenever his older brother was too agitated. After three hours on the road, Sam gratefully spotted a nice deserted picnic area beside a clean little creek bed. Pulling over just to enjoy being able to eat their roast beef sandwiches without brassy waitresses and noisy, obnoxious supper clientele made the stop well worth it. Dean had tossed a couple cans of beer in the bag with the sandwiches, before they'd left their little haven, and they sipped a beer apiece while they talked about the possible hunt.

Sam's find had been reports of ghostly sightings at a little country church up near Antioch, Illinois. A total of five different adults had 'witnessed' strange happenings in and around the churchyard and had included a gray hazy shape floating around under the big oak trees, someone or something that had actually thrown hymnals from the organ loft when no one but the pastor was in the church. The most recent occurrence involved the choirmaster being 'pushed' down a flight of stairs by an unseen force.

It was reed thin on real documentation, but hey, anything was worth a try when you felt as desperate for a hunt as the boys did.

Dean sat quietly running his hand through his spiked blond hair forward and back. He stretched his long frame out on the length of the picnic bench and just watched the pine trees for a few moments before broaching the subject of "what if", not wanting to ruin the sheer joy of the road trip.

"Sooo, Sammy, what are we gonna do if this little Casper sighting is a bust. You said it looked pretty 'iffy'. Did you find any other possible jobs in the somewhat immediate area? 'Immediate' meaning within, I don't know… maybe a six to seven hundred mile radius." He was glad he wasn't eye to eye with Sammy when he added that last part. He didn't want Sam to know how desperately he was itching for a good fight.

Suddenly a dark shadow fell across his face and opening his eyes he found Sam looming above him, leaning across the table top with an insane grin on his face. Sam let out an amused guffaw, shaking his head in good-natured disbelief.

"Six or seven hundred miles? Immediate area?" Sam continued chuckling. "Okay, Dean. I guess 'immediate' is pretty much a matter open for argument when we basically live in the Impala. I'll concede that."

Dean swung his legs off the bench and under the table, smoothing out his jacket as he sat up once more. Squinting against the late afternoon sun, he glanced over at Sam hoping for some other hunting tidbit to savor. "Anything?"

Sam's brow furrowed beneath his shaggy brown locks. Speaking hesitantly, the words forming slowly as if he was unsure of how they would be received by the older hunter. "Well, there was an odd article about how some carnival worker had killed a couple of rude ladies in a town near the Wisconsin border. Does seem a little out of the ordinary, don't you think? People don't usually murder for manners. Cops said the guy seemed under the influence of something, not too responsive, actually stood right there in a daze, until they slapped the cuffs on him."

"Awww, c'mon, Sam. I think that one may really be pushing the envelope a bit too far. It's not like a carnie won't do drugs." Dean grimaced, scrunching his mouth to one side of his handsome face and rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Are we _that _desperate?!"

"Really, Dean, I think we could at least see what we find when we get there. These towns are literally about fifteen miles apart. We could stop at a diner and while they're grilling our burgers, we could grill the waitress. You know how persuasive that boyish grin of yours is around the ladies." Sam knew Dean would never back away from that challenge. He tossed Dean an impish smirk.

Dean's face lit up with one of those 'devil' grins. "Alright, Sammy, you win. Just keep your eye on that laptop and see if we can find anything else, though. We still have another two hours of driving ahead of us."

They cleaned up the remnants of their meal and put the Impala back on the road. Dean drove contentedly as Sam did more research on his trusty laptop.

Paddock Lake, Wisconsin 

Isaiah Simmons, left Frank's house without saying a word, leaving a bewildered Frank sitting dejectedly on the sofa in his basement bedroom, and wondering what he'd done or said wrong. He, Dylan, and Isaiah usually would hang out after a good movie and they'd all play Mortal Kombat or something tamer on the Playstation until supper time.

First Dylan had wandered off without even saying farewell, and now, Isaiah. Frank slouched over to the TV and hit 'play' on the dvd player. Nothing but static was his response. Frowning at first he suddenly remembered the movie had been a 'one time only' disc. Hitting the 'open' button he grabbed the disc and sailed it like a Frisbee towards the wastebasket in the corner of his room. He missed. _Oh, well…_

Looking through his games, he loaded Zombie Mall Attack into the game player and threw himself onto his bed to mope, but at least enjoy being depressed.

Laying there playing his video games alone for the first time in the weeks since summer vacation began, Frank couldn't help but wonder what had suddenly 'come over' his two best friends.

Man, what the hell..! Me and Dylan and Isaiah we're the Three Musketeers, man! We do everything together..everything! Shit! Even Dylan's mom calls us the Three Stooges. What the hell is happening? I figured all we talked about for today was watching that goofy movie and then getting down to some serious game challenges. Did I say something? Did I do something to piss them off? They just stood up and walked out! Well, screw'em, I'm not apologizing, 'cuz I did nothing wrong to either one of 'em!

Isaiah walked purposefully into his family's small bait and tackle shop. His father looked up briefly as he was completing fishing licenses for two customers. Isaiah milled around listlessly near the bait counter.

The air in the shop reflected the smell of warm moist earth from the worm tubs and cricket hutch and the fishy scent of the minnows and shiners in the tanks. Isaiah seemed not to even notice any more, not after growing up helping with the every day operation of the shop.

Isaiah's dad pushed past him to retrieve some bait canisters, rang up the purchase on the cash register, and as the three men headed out the screened door he called out to his son.

"Isaiah, I'm going to help these guys with the canoe they just rented so please keep an eye on things for awhile." That comment brought a hazy smile to the boy's slack looking face. "Okay? About five or ten minutes, ok?"

Taking the boy's mute stare as an agreement his father took the men to select a canoe and get them onto the broad, quiet lake.

Isaiah stood dumbly in front of the leech tank and began pulling leeches one-by one from the brackish water. As each one squirmed in his grasp he helped it latch onto his intended target. Grabbing one slimy, squirmy leech after another, until he had a full dozen. Then, he just stood quietly, like a statue.

The screen door squeaked open as both of Isaiah's parents came back into the shop, his father barely sparing his son a glance until his wife's terrified screams ripped through him.

Whirling to see what the hell, his mouth fell open in horrified disbelief at the sight of his firstborn son, standing deathly quiet, a dozen black leeches writhing and dangling from his bare eyeballs!


	3. Chapter 3

Mesmerized chapter 3 

Bobby Lee Billings moved through his errands as quickly as possible. Damn, he hated crowded stores but the love he felt for his beautiful, golden-haired Brenda outweighed his other dislikes in life.

As a cross-country trucker he often kept odd hours, getting home this morning a little before 3 a.m. Around 7:15 a.m., he'd felt an almost imperceptible movement beside him as his wife rose from bed to get ready for the office.

She had padded silently around the room laying out her clothes, brushing her shoulder-length hair, totally unaware that her husband was watching her through half-closed eyes, cherishing her every move. She disappeared into the bathroom to apply make-up to her near perfect face.

Lying there feeling like the luckiest man alive, awaiting her return he backed up from the edge of the mattress, laying his trap for his unsuspecting beauty.

Exiting the bath after several minutes, she slipped her nightgown up over her shapely form revealing the body he so loved. Wishing she could come back to the warm bed and let him demonstrate just how much he appreciated it, he contented himself with the thought of the nice evening they'd have tonight.

She dressed quickly and gave her shining hair a few more brush strokes, and then stepped silently to the side of the bed. Lovingly she ran her slender fingers through his tousled brown curls, gently caressed his cheek and bent to kiss her husband good-bye.

With lightning fast motion he snagged her waist in his burly arms and pulled her down onto the bed. " Now is that any proper way to kiss your loving husband farewell, lady?" he chuckled.

How he relished the look, the velvety feel of her fragrant skin. After a few passionate kisses, she pushed herself upright, with a soft sigh, smoothed out her clothes and checked the effect once more in the mirror.

"Bob, I'm going to be late," she chastised and glided toward bedroom hallway.

"Well, baby, just don't be late tonight. I'll cook something real tasty. We'll have some wine, followed by a quiet 'special' night, okay?"

She smiled her approval, blew him a final kiss and was gone, followed moments later by the click of the front door and the sound of her car leaving the driveway.

He set the alarm for 10 a.m. and fell back asleep, smiling in anticipation.

After the rude alarm awakened him he had coffee and moved around the kitchen making a short grocery list. They would feast on Shrimp Creole over a bed of rice and white wine.

After shopping for fresh foods for his honey's favorite dinner, he stopped to buy wine and a big bouquet of her preferred flowers, painted daisies. Leaving the little florist shop, he decided to pick up a video to while away a few hours as supper cooked. Maneuvering his truck into the local video store parking lot, he cursed in frustration, realizing not a single parking spot was available. A few shops were having 'sidewalk sales' putting the entire area in gridlock. Unhappy drivers were shaking fists and swearing at people they might live next door to.

He angrily vetoed the video idea and steered the truck back onto the street. Blending into traffic, he saw something that caused him to pull into the very next driveway.

_Well, I'll be damned! Where the hell did that come from? I've seen 'em in the 'big' city but never in a burg like this! Damn, this baby could really be a godsend. Dirt cheap! Convenient as hell! That is so damned funny! I can't wait to tell Brenda. _

Nestled into the bend of a little v-shaped store complex near the Wilson Court motel, was the ugliest, dull black video-vending machine.

Encased in plastic windows on the wings spread on either side of the machine body, it displayed a limited array of flicks. The neon sign above the unit read: Red Devil's Video Depot.

Pulling up to the curb, he jumped out to scan the offerings.

Damn, nothing new here.. Shit! Lots of chick flicks and kiddie crap. Hey, wait, an oldies-but-goodies section… Hmm, I haven't seen that since I was a kid. What the hell, it's only a buck and screen says it doesn't even need to be returned. I hate daytime TV. Anything is better than Dr. Phil or Oprah!

Fishing in his change pocket, he extracted four quarters and shoved them into the slot and punched in his selection. The machine made a

grinding sound and with a thump, his video appeared in the chute encased in black cellophane adorned with a little red devil. The thump caused the little red devil head mounted on the neon sign to nod like a bobble head doll and it emitted a recorded demonic laugh.

Bobby shook his head, _Great gimmick! What'll they think of next! _

Grabbing his prize, Bobby Lee dashed back to his vehicle, heading for home.

Typical of the numerous small towns they favored, Antioch was brimming with small businesses and quiet residential streets. Stopping for gas, Sam went inside to glean directions to both the church in question and a reasonably clean, reasonably priced motel. Grinning victoriously, he returned with both.

"Okay, now, clerk said it's a little white clapboard church with a tall steeple and a graveyard off to the side, about five blocks down the main drag. Nice, clean motel is located about 8 miles down Highway 45 towards Bristol."

Dean winced, feeling like he'd put his foot in bear trap. "Bristol! There's that name again! Carnie's gonna haunt my dreams tonight." He frowned slightly "Alright, let's go find us a church and a spook."

The church was easy to find, right in the middle of a huge treed lot adjoining a small old-time graveyard. The hunters, nearly tripping over one another in their enthusiastic dismount from their trusty chariot, ran towards their unoccupied destination.

Groaning with evident frustration, they found no EMF readings from the moment they stepped onto church grounds. A quick tour of the unlocked chapel and even a walk among the gravestones failed to produce any activity. Perhaps the worst disappointment came as the brothers cautiously prowled the churchyard beneath the low hanging ancient oaks. Dean with his keen hunter's eyes had picked up on some fresh pieces of broken tree bark.

"Gotta check this out, Sam. I'd say the bark looks pretty fresh, been here maybe four or five days." Without another word, Dean launched himself at the tree trunk, shinnying up into the lower branches. Reaching a fairly wide crook at the tree's core, Dean let loose a disgusted snort.

"Damn, Sam. I think I just found our floating spirit."

Dean shoved something into his jacket, momentarily swung like a monkey from a low branch, and pounced onto the ground landing in front of his puzzled brother.

"Shit! Look at this. I'm guessing some punkass kids are hanging out in someone's basement right now busting a gut about the fast one they pulled on the church elders."

From inside his jacket, he produced a large gray, silky square of fabric with a spool of fishing line knotted to one corner.

Sam shook his head in disgusted disappointment. "Damn kids. I suppose the choir leader got clumsy on the stairs and just didn't want to admit it."

"Well, God knows who pulled this prank and who tossed the hymnals. So, little brother, it'll be up to God to punish 'em." Dean chuckled.

Sam's shoulders drooped and he wrinkled his nose, looking crestfallen. "Damn, Dean. So much for our hunt…"

Draping the fabric over the sign announcing the hours for church services, the disgruntled hunters walked dejectedly back to the Impala and headed for the Wilson Court motel.

Brenda's office – late afternoon 

Around 4:30 the law office where Brenda served as a paralegal, had settled down to a dull roar. She was busy trying to tie up loose ends in hope of locking the front door by 5:30. All day long no matter how difficult things had gotten, she'd been able to banish the dark clouds knowing the wonderful evening awaiting her.

Suddenly she became aware of Penny Strasser quietly waiting for her to look up from her work. Her best friend bent down with a quiet invitation, " Hey, Bee, a bunch of us are going to stop for a couple drinks after work. Care to join us?"

"Honey, I'd love to, but I'll have to take a rain check," she paused beaming. "I have a very hot date tonight with a very sexy guy."

Penny chuckled, "I should have known what put that sparkle in your eyes all day! I didn't know Bobby was back in town already."

"Yeah, poor guy, came straggling in around 3 this morning and made me promises of a particularly awesome evening tonight…home cooking, wine and romance. Lots of romance!" ending her description with a wicked grin and an arched eyebrow.

Penny giggled girlishly, "Brenda, you and that big guy of yours make us all so jealous! You two will still be honeymooning right through retirement age."

Walking out of Brenda's office, Penny turned, flashing a final devilish grin, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She ducked just in time to miss the wad of paper tossed in her direction.

Brenda allowed herself a few moments to reflect on the fantastic marriage she and Bobby had shared these past seven years, and happily got back to work.

"Okay, Sam, we've got our room and the motel is decent. You did good, bro. Now let's go get some grub. Motel guy says there's a great place a few miles down on Highway 50. Brat Stop! Bratwurst! Kraut! Beer!"

"Brat Stop?! Since when do you do the ethnic food thing?" Sam's eyes narrowed skeptically, looking at Dean for signs of a possible demonic tenant.

"C'mon, Sam. What did you think Dad and I did those years you were gone? Put our asses in a convent or something?"

"Well, it's just different is all. It's usually greasy burgers! Greasy fries! Greasy pizza! I swear to God, Dean, if they could find a way to deep fry lettuce, I might get you to eat salads!"

"Real ha-ha, Sam!" Dean made a sour face at his smart-ass sibling. "Hey, did I say sauerkraut? Come on now, Sammy, just admit it that's almost a salad. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess. Never knew you ate that stuff."

Dean chuckled, smiling boyishly at a memory only he could see. "Well, Dad and I did a few gigs up this way one Fall a few years back. Aww, Sammy! You haven't partied 'til you hit one of these German Oktober-fest thingies! Ice cold beer! Brats cooked in beer! Sauerkraut! …and more beer!"

With it being a weeknight, Sam was stunned to find how busy the restaurant was. He had to admit that the food aromas were wonderful and although he ordered a fresh salad with plenty of great Wisconsin cheese on it, he was sorely tempted to order a bratwurst after Dean's platter was delivered. Everything looked and smelled so tempting.

Sam had cringed in disgust when Dean ordered something called 'fried cheese curds'. Somehow he'd envisioned a burnt-looking, gloppy, gooey cheesy mess, but was pleasantly surprised when he tried one of the battered, deep-fried tidbits from Dean's order.

His arm shot up like rocket to summon their waiter to request a second order of curds, moving Dean to laugh nearly to the point of tears. "Yup, little brother, I know. It's really a health food selection under dairy products," Then solemnly raising his hand, he smirked, "Your secret is safe with me."

Diving into all that great food and beer, the hunters decided to just relax and enjoy the night.

Billings' House 

Traffic had been so cooperative on the way home. Brenda raced up the steps and into the house, surprised to see she'd made it home in record time.

Dancing into the kitchen, she called out to her sweetheart, "Honey, it's only 6:10 and we are going to have a really long night together this time!"

She was all smiles, cautiously lifting the lid from the Dutch oven brimming with savory Shrimp Creole, The aroma filling the air as she dipped the serving spoon in to sneak a taste. As usual, it was absolutely awesome. _Bobby, my boy, you are exceptional!_

Always so organized, Bobby had already set out the pan and water for cooking the rice. Walking through the dining room, she stopped to admire the beautifully set table and the bright daisy bouquet in a cut-glass vase.

Stepping briefly into the living room, she found her Prince Charming, head slumped on his chest apparently napping with the TV on, playing only static. The dvd player was powered on with a dvd in the now open drawer.

My poor baby! Sooo tired and yet he does all these wonderful things for me. Thank you, God. I'm so blessed.

She crept up behind his recliner, tousling his hair and leaning down to bestow a kiss on his warm forehead, and he stirred slightly.

"Bobby, honey, the Shrimp Creole is absolutely yummy, my daisies are gorgeous and you are the best husband in the whole world!"

She reached down and removed her shoes, nesting them in her usual cubby hole beneath the big oak desk.

"Honey, I'm going to shower, put on something sexy and I'll be at the table in 20 minutes. So if you want to start the rice, your timing will be impeccable!"

Another quick peck on his forehead and she headed for the bathroom.

After several silent minutes passed, Bobby Lee Billings stiffly pushed himself upright before rising from his comfy recliner. Ambling through the dining room, he entered the herb-fragrant kitchen. Pausing only long enough to retrieve the item he needed, he continued on his route.

Marching quietly into the steamy bathroom, he never hesitated an instant. Bringing the gleaming butcher knife above his head he drove it through the fabric of the shower curtain directly into his wife's beautiful body.

Jerking the knife from its meaty sheath with such force that he was able to strike a second time before Brenda could even manage to scream.

Oblivious to those ear-piercing shrieks, he continued to carry out his task. His ears were deaf to those dreadful sucking sounds as the weapon was withdrawn from one wound only to be plunged downward making another, her terrified shrieks and eyes having no impact.

Totally ignorant to the arterial spray that splashed him full in the face as he hit her left carotid artery, he stopped only when her dead body fell from the shower onto the floor.

Shuffling back down the hall, he resumed his seat in front of the TV, until a worried Penny found them the next morning.

Chapter End Notes: _Not everyone has the same idea of what makes up a 'romantic evening!'_


	4. Chapter 4

Mesmerized Chapter 4 

_**Author's Notes:**__ Hope you're enjoying my little tale so far…don't want to disappoint anyone. _

Wilson Court Motel - Bristol, Wisconsin 

Lying in bed watching his little brother sleep away the early part of the day was not Dean's idea of how he wanted to spend his morning. Although, with so many of Sammy's nights marred by dreadful nightmares and visions, Dean couldn't help but spend a few moments appreciating his brother's peaceful face and limbs. If only all Sam's rest was this serene, Dean observed, trying to ignore the little puddle of drool forming on Sam's pillow beside his slightly open, snoring mouth.

Glancing at Sam's watch on the nightstand, he saw it was already 8:20 and judging by his favorite geek's snoring, it was obvious Sam would be sawing logs for quite awhile.

Throwing back his own tangled sheet and blanket, Dean slid his feet onto the soft carpet and struggled to stand, pausing to roll his head about on his broad, bare shoulders then flexing and twisting the muscles of his arms and back to chase away the morning kinks. One last flexing of his jaw and neck followed by a soft snapping sound had him ready to face the day.

By the small amount of light filtering through the tiny crack between the thick thermal drapes, he silently made his way into the small kitchenette. Hearing a grumble from beneath his six-pack abs, Dean stroked his belly with a smile.

Oh yeah, time to feed the beast! Could head on out to some fast food dive for a sausage biscuit….we passed a bunch of 'em last night! I don't remember the office mentioning continental breakfast. Nawww, just have to wait …Damn.

For as often as Sam picked on Dean for his bad and never-ending eating patterns, Dean knew Sam could easily eat as much. They expended so much energy during any given day that their metabolism levels had to be sky-high. He stared down at his still growling flat belly in appreciation of his own internal furnace. Mumbling in a whisper,

"Don't worry, I'll feed you, boy."

Going to breakfast without his trusty sidekick was out of the question, but he was hungry, not ravenously so, but he knew he'd be gnawing on a table leg by lunchtime.

Leaning down to snag a cold bottle of water from the little fridge, a broad smile suddenly brightened his handsome face. Spotting the deli-wrapped packages on the shelf next to the beer, he recalled how he'd been forced to placate the mumbling, stumbling Sam with a side trip into the deli area at the restaurant, to purchase some sliced cheese and cold cuts.

After eating his salad and devouring not only his plate of curds but most of Dean's as well, Sam had decided to 'try' a couple of different types of great beers the bar kept on tap. The night had ended with Dean nearly carrying a very silly and Jello-legged Sam out to the Impala.

_Yeah, right! Couple of beers, my ass! _Sneaking a peek back at the sleeping Sam, _Sammy, my boy, for once you outdid even your big bro'. Man, I can't wait to show you the photos on your cell phone of you and the two drunken chicks you tried to go home with! Want to chalk up the bad taste to the alcohol, but could be we need to see an eye doc after all those visions and bumps on the head!_

Dean pulled the packages from their nesting place and carefully opened the ones containing ham and Swiss cheese. Damn, they'd forgotten to get bread. Always one to ad lib, Dean wound the cheese and ham together, devouring the resultant roll in one mouthful.

Hearing Sam groaning softly, his mind went back to Sam and those chubby young ladies. Smirking, Dean couldn't help but think he would have bought tickets to see how that would have turned out.

He wolfed down two more ham/cheese rolls, put the food away and sauntered into the bathroom.

Tossing his boxers onto the floor, Dean turned on the shower and climbed in. Sighing as he felt the heat relaxing his eternally sore body, he slowly lathered up his muscular limbs, chest and belly. Smoothing more of the soap over the tight muscles of his flanks, he moved on to shampoo his short blonde hair. He stood there for another four or five minutes just luxuriating in a moment where nothing was happening, no fighting, no protecting, no thought process needed. To Dean, heaven would be eternity in a hot shower.

Exiting the bathroom, quietly, so Sam could continue his snoozing Dean decided to make a pot of coffee and check out the laptop for any signs of supernatural activity anywhere close by.

Finding Sam had saved the "carnie attack" info, Dean actually read the news reports and what Sam had found available on local police reports as well. It was a bit odd to attack someone over their lack of manners, but not unheard of. What Dean found most interesting was the description of the man having no response to what he had done or to the arresting officers. None.

He also found an article covering the death of some 'Dylan' kid that had somehow managed to kill himself pulling some prank. Nothing there either, really.

Suddenly, Sam snorted out loud and kicked out with those gargantuan long legs of his, on foot coming into loud painful contact with the wall beside his bed. With a yelp, he tried to twist and turn his body out from under the knotted bedclothes. The only thing he succeeded in doing was rolling completely off the bed and onto the floor with a sound thump, managing to hit his head on the nightstand in the process.

Dean bit his tongue to stifle the rising laugh and pushed out of his chair to fly to Sam's rescue. Dean assisted Sam in extricating all those long limbs from the tangled fabrics.

Moments later, Sam sat on the edge of the bed trying to regroup, elbows on his knees, aching head cradled in his large slender hands.

"God, I hit my head harder than I thought, Dean. Feels like it's gonna explode. Got any aspi….." He was interrupted by Dean shoving some Tylenol and a bottle of water into his face."Oh.."

"Sam, believe me the bump on the head is the least of your worries. Do you remember anything from last night?"

Sam started to scowl but then realized the effort caused him even more pain, "A little. We had some really great appetizers called fried cheese curds and we had a few beers… Oh, I had more than a few, huh?" He winced.

"Sammy, we gotta talk about that salad thing of yours. Man, when you're going to drink you need REAL food in your gut. Lettuce just isn't that absorbent, you know." Dean laughed and shook his head. "Wow, man, you drank me under the table at Brat Stop! How ya' feelin'? Rough?"

Sam just groaned. "I suppose you need breakfast already." The mere thought was repellant. "Can I just sit in the car?"

"Nah, I'm okay for awhile. If you think you can hold down coffee, I'll get you a cup." Seeing Sam smile in agreement Dean got up to fix another cup. He made a point of grabbing Sam's cell on the way back.

Sam was sipping tentatively when he looked up and caught the devil grin on Dean's handsome face. Dean's green eyes glittered with mischief. Sam groaned out loud. "Okay, let me have it. What did I do?"

Dean relished seeing the horrified look on Sam's face as he revealed the pictures of Sam dancing with and almost cuddling two local girls weighing in at two twenty-five to two-fifty each.

"Oh, Sammy, you were such a little love-machine last night! We got into an argument when you tried to leave with the young ladies." Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he added "I hope you're not still mad at me?"

Quickly changing the subject, Sam pointed towards the open laptop. "Find anything?"

Clearing his throat and trying to dampen the smirk on his face, Dean shook his head.

"How about a shower, we'll do a bit of sightseeing and then we'll find a talkative waitress."

Sam felt so grateful that Dean's shower had left plenty of hot water to wash away the cobwebs in his brain. He stood under the powerful jet of water, thinking that for once the showerhead was actually mounted high enough to rain down from above. Usually, being tall was a real problem and he would have to kneel or bend really low to get his head under the water flow. He lathered up slowly and washed his hair enjoying the feel of the water bringing him to life once more. He watched the water sheet down his muscular chest, rolling down the valleys of his abs.

Finally, climbing out through the clouds of steam, he wrapped himself in a towel and stepped out to find Dean had made more coffee and had opened the curtains a bit.

Sam toweled off, sliding on fresh boxers, jeans and a tee. He slid into the chair next to the older hunter. "Better. Much better. Give me another ten or fifteen minutes and we can face the day, okay?"

Dean smiled in sympathy, having had more than a few hangovers in his life. "Yep, whenever you say the word."

Sam was just finishing his second mug of coffee, when the room filled with the loud noise of sirens and there came a flurry of activity on the road in front of the motel.

Both hunters went flying to the window to check out the action. Four squad cars and an ambulance tore past them.

Without a moment's hesitation Dean and Sam had slipped on their boots and were heading towards the door, pausing only long enough for Sam to scoop up the laptop and for Dean to grab his wallet and keys.

Sam yelled, "Got the room keys, let's go."

They drove as fast as possible to catch up with the little law enforcement parade. Turning off of Highway 45 and onto 50 they followed another two miles and turned into a quiet subdivision.

Dean swung the car around the block, parking the Impala behind the shelter of a large hedge. The hunters quietly slipped in among the throng of neighborhood gawkers. Dean and Sam knew how to work a crowd. John had been an expert on surreptitiously gathering intelligence when on any hunt.

Dean selected a nosy-looking lady in a robe and juice-can hair rollers and Sam opted for a rather terrified-looking young mother with her toddler gathered to her heaving chest.

"What happened? Heart attack or something?" Dean looked at the lady with the hint of a worried smile on his face.

"Oh, no! A murder!" replied the neighborhood busybody. Looking overjoyed to have someone she could share the 'dirt' with, she clutched at Dean's arm. "Mr. Billings killed Mrs. Billings apparently last night. One of her office friends got worried when she didn't show up for work and found her murdered!"

Dean leaned in closer, "Really?! Were they getting divorced or something?"

"No! We all thought they were crazy about each other." She paused, watching as the police escorted someone to one of the squads. "Look, that's Mr. Billings right there in the blue shirt. Oh, my God! Look at all that blood!"

Dean had to admit he had seldom seen anyone covered in that much gore without being the 'victim' of the violence. He glanced in Sam's direction, happy to see Sam apparently getting an earful as well.

"You know they said he used a butcher knife to kill her in the bathroom…. So sad, she was a real sweet girl. Real pretty, too. He seemed like a pretty nice fellow. Truck driver. On the road a lot."

Dean began to drift away easing a bit closer to the house to see if he could overhear anything from the cops or their radio transmissions.

Closing his eyes behind his sunglasses to limit the distractions sight might cause, Dean stood like a statue listening intently to the voices around him.

He caught many bits and pieces. "…like he was catatonic, or something,"

"She was a bloody mess, must have been stabbed a dozen or more times."

"Taking a shower before dinner…"

"Wonder what set him off? Dinner on the stove, flowers and wine..hmm?"

"Hell, TV was still on ...no movie though…"

"…friend said they were really in love…"

Opening his eyes, he glanced around, catching sight of Sam moving towards the hidden Impala and proceeded to remove himself from crowd's fringe to join him.

Sam was looking suitably agitated when then climbed in the car to share what they'd learned.

"Mine knew the woman fairly well. She said they were even discussing the possibility of having kids. Dean, man, you should've heard how upset she was. Said she and her husband were supposed to double with the Billings couple this weekend. How 'bout you?"

"About same as you," Dean replied. "Old lady says they were nice people. No trouble. Did you see the guy? Been a long time since I saw that much blood! Caught a lot of little bits off the cops and their radio calls. Seems like they had a nice supper on tap with flowers and all. He went into the bathroom and went all crazy. Stabbed her like a dozen times and they found him all spaced out. Didn't look too "with it" when they hauled him outta there either."

Sam scowled, looking at his laptop, checking for any early news flashes from Bristol.

"C'mon, Sam. Guy was a trucker let's check for a truck stop in the area. We have to eat, might hear something juicy while we're there."

Walking into the little restaurant, dwarfed by all the big rigs surrounding it, Dean and Sam slid into a quiet booth in the corner facing the door. A pert, little teenaged waitress cruised up to the table after a minute or two, sliding glasses of water and menus in front of the two hunters.

They both looked up preparing to return dazzling 'pretty boy' smiles in response to her 'cute' one. But, no sweet smile presented itself. Instead they were met with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-stained face.

In unison, they chimed, "Are you okay?" their concern evident in their voices.

"Oh, one of our favorite customers just killed someone. Nobody can believe it!" She began to cry in earnest and Dean struggled to pull napkins from the dispenser for her. "Oh, it just can't be true. Bobby was in here just yesterday for coffee before he headed home to fix dinner."

Sam stood up and encouraged her to perch on the edge of his bench seat. As she sat down, she tried to collect herself.

"I'm so sorry," she gushed breathlessly. "It's just that he really loved his wife. It's all he ever talked about. Heck, they met here and even got married in our parking lot, with all the trucks decked out for the wedding!"

Sam stole a peek at her name tag, "Rachel, it's okay. Sometimes couples have fights and things just get beyond their control. You never know why these things happen."

She looked up at him and then at Dean, who had squatted down close to her. "No, it's not just them. I feel like the whole world's getting crazy lately!" She sniffled and blew her nose loudly, "First, we all went to that circus thing and some guy killed two ladies while we were there. Shit! Then two of my good friends from school got all stupid... One of them's dead and the other one is all messed up!"

Sam and Dean exchanged interested, inquisitive looks.

"What do you mean by 'messed up', Rachel?" Sam inquired gently, giving the girl a few more napkins to dry her tears.

"I just can't talk about Isaiah. It's just too disgusting, too horrible." She shook her head and picked up her order pad and pen. "I'm sorry, this isn't your problem. Let me go get your order, okay?" She tried to muster a friendly smile.

Dean ordered scrambled eggs and toast for Sam's upset stomach and went whole hog on an order of eggs, pancakes, bacon and hash browns for his own growling gut. Even by truck stop high standards they found the coffee and food to be outstanding.

They kept their discussion of the morning's events to as little as possible and concentrated on trying to catch one more chat with Rachel.

As they pushed their now empty plates toward the middle of the table, Rachel came up with their tab. She looked a little more composed and smiled a little more brightly.

Dean beamed a sweet smile in return and as he stood up leaned down to softly ask her if anyone could give the a little more information on her dead and injured friends.

She thought for a moment, then jotted a name and phone number on an order blank. "Here, this is one of my other good friends, Frank Tanner. He was with the guys the day that bad stuff happened. He's cool, just tell him I told you to call him. He'll give you directions." She smiled sadly and walked away.

Dean stopped beside the Impala waiting for Sam and his hangover to catch up. "You gonna be okay, Sammy. Your food going to stay in the old retention pond for a while? You need my sunglasses? I look cool enough without them." He grinned.

"M'good, thanks." He squinted into the morning sunlight. "So what do you think? Look into this a little further?" He raised his eyebrows in query.

"Yeah, what the hell! Might as well spend the day doing something. We can go see Frank and then maybe later, we'll take a trip back to the Billings house. Probably, right at dusk. Nosy neighbors shouldn't see flashlights, huh?"

_End Notes: Hey, they can't all end in death and horror, Bristol only has 3,000 residents…….we have to leave some for our heroes to save ……_


	5. Chapter 5

Mesmerized Chapter 5 

**Jensen Family home – Bristol 10 a.m.**

Knocking gently at first then louder after receiving no response, Suzanne Jensen cautiously entered her young brother-in-law's darkened room..

"Al. Alex! I'm coming in," she called out, in case he was undressed. "Sweetie, it's nearly 10 a.m.. Time to get up. Your boss just called to find out why you weren't at work already…?"

No answer. No movement. The only sound was the hiss of static on Alex's small television.

"Alex! Come on now, Alex. Please wake up! Are you sick? Do you want me to call your boss back?"

Still nothing.

Stepping further into the heavily shadowed room, intending to open the curtains on his window or flip on the small dresser lamp, she suddenly wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor in the room.

"Alex, it smells gross in here! Have you been vomiting? My God, open a window."

Shuffling uncertainly in the murky shadows she nearly tripped and fell. Suzanne could barely make out the shapes of Alex's discarded sneakers. She bent to scoop up the offending objects intending to tuck them neatly under the edge of his bed.

As she lifted the first shoe she made a face at how sticky and wet it felt. "Alex, your shoes are gross. What did you get into? You should have left them out on the porch last night."

Flipping on the bedside lamp with the other hand she reached out to grab the second sneaker.

It took a few seconds for her brain to register what her hand was stretched toward.

The sneaker sat upright on the floor, the broken spurs of leg bones thrusting out of the torn flesh just above the ankle where it had been crudely sawn from the leg, blood pooling in a congealing mass around it.

Making choked gasping noises, hand spasming, her eyes followed the trail of red to the blood-soaked bed where Alex lay, hand still clutching the saw that dangled over the edge.

Throwing herself backwards into a corner she began to scream.

Leaving the truck stop parking lot Dean glanced in Sammy's direction. Despite the shower, breakfast and fresh air, he was still looking a little green around the gills. His usually alert, attentive gaze was clouded. His voice was uncharacteristically silent.

"Hey, Tiger, you feelin' okay over there?" He flashed Sam a sympathetic big brotherly smile.

Sam smiled weakly, a little embarrassed. "Still feeling kind of rough, I guess. I really overdid it last night, huh?" he shifted uncomfortably, not sure breakfast had been such a great idea.

Dean, despite his usual cockiness and snarky humor, never liked to rub it in when Sam was under the weather. His green eyes darted to his watch and then to Rachel's slip of paper lying on the black leather seat.

"Tell you what, Sam…You call Frank and get him to agree to a little talk with me and I can drop you off at the motel for a few hours. I can even check out the Billings place while you catch a few Z's. A few hours rest should perk you right up. Okay?"

Sam squirmed in his seat, feeling guilty fully knowing he was suffering only because of his own carelessness.

After so many months and so many miles back together again, Dean was able to cover the argument popping into Sam's head without his verbalizing.

"Sam, c'mon, man. You feel lousy. Okay, big deal so you brought it on yourself. Not like I haven't been there, done that…a bunch! You always let ME rest."

Smiling at Dean being able to read his thoughts, Sam nodded his head in agreement, Dean had a point. He picked up his phone, punching in the number on Rachel's note.

Hearing a warm-sounding teenaged voice at the other end, he began, "Hey, hi! Are you Frank Tanner? …Good, great…Your friend, Rachel, gave my brother and me your number. She said you could help us with an investigation we're working on….Yeah. We're private investigators."

He listened as the boy spoke for a few moments, interjecting a few "uh-huh's" and "nopes" when required.

"Yeah, well, my brother can stop by in maybe thirty or forty minutes." Smiling into the phone, "Great, sure. Let me write that down."

Digging a pen from his inner breast pocket, he grabbed Rachel's paper and using the Impala's dash as a desk he scribbled directions to Tanner's home for Dean.

"Thanks a lot, Frankie. We really appreciate anything you can do to help. My brother's name is Dean. He's driving a '67 Impala, black. ..yeah, man. Can't miss that. Yeah. Nice car!"

Sam's eyes darted towards Dean, knowing he'd see a grin over that last snippet. As usual, Dean hadn't missed a thing.

"Okay, Frankie, Dean'll be there later. Thanks, again."

Turning slightly towards Dean, Sam broke into a gentle smile, "Seems like a nice kid, Dean. Take it easy on him, okay?"

Dean feigned a look of shock, " Me? Not nice?"

Sam chuckled, "Man, are you sure about this resting thing? 'Cuz

I can stay with you to see Frankie and go the Billings place. As long as I don't make any sudden moves, I think I'm o-..."

As if to prove Dean right, a large dark dog suddenly dashed into the roadway, causing Dean to brake hard steering to the right.

A panicked glance at Sam had Dean pulling the car fully onto the shoulder as fast as he could manage.

"Dude! Don't you puke in my car!!"

The warning was still hanging in the air, as Sam threw open the huge car door, leaning out over the grassy ditch as his breakfast evacuated.

After a few moments, he straightened back into the seat, grabbing the bottle of water Dean was passing his way. Sucking in a mouthful, he rinsed several times, spitting into the grass. Taking several calming, deep breaths Sam closed the door.

"Want you in bed as soon as possible, 'kay, Sam?"

Sam nodded in silent agreement.

Twenty-five minutes later Dean was turning the big Chevy down a pretty little road that ran along the edge of a small lake. The homes were mostly sprawling ranch-style residences set quite neatly into large two to three acre treed yards.

Too bad! Sammy would have enjoyed the nice quiet ride back here. Ahhh, the many joys of being a party animal. Poor guy!

Dean had known Sam was over-doing it last night and had simply stood back and let it happen. He understood that sometimes a little "party too hardy" could have a cathartic value. Sammy cut loose way too seldom for it to be healthy for him. Dean had worried about that ever since Jess's loss.

Spotting the Tanner's name and house number on a mailbox, Dean turned his thoughts back to the investigation at hand.

Frankie's home was a large white split-rock place with a long, curving driveway leading to the attached garage. As Dean pulled up the drive, a stocky, dark-haired boy, about fifteen or sixteen, stood up from the porch chair he'd been perched upon. Moving quickly to the driver's door, the kid pulled it open, as Dean turned off the big rumbling motor. Peeling off his jacket, as the midday heat entered the car, Dean tossed it on the seat and climbed out of his baby.

"Oh, dude, awesome ride! This is too sweet!" The kid leaned in to look at the interior and then began walking the big vehicle's perimeter, sliding his hand gently over the glossy black body in awe and appreciation.

Dean grinned proudly. He really liked this kid. "Yeah, I've had it forever it seems and before that it was my Dad's."

"How cool is that?! Damn, my old man's idea of a cool car is a Volvo station wagon, only thing cool about that is the air conditioner. How lame can you get?"

Dean and Frankie enjoyed a good loud guffaw over that sentiment.

The teen paused looking longingly at the massive Chevy monster, " I bet this baby can really tear up the road when it wants to."

"She definitely gets me where I want to go."

Giving the car one last lingering look of admiration, Frankie led the way around the side of the house to where the ground began a steady decline. The basement was exposed at the rear of the home. Access to the lower floor was through two sets of wide sliding glass doors.

Frankie rested his hand on the handle of the first set, gesturing a welcome, "This is my room. We can talk in here."

The kid's room was huge about 24 feet in any direction, containing a king-sized bed, a tan leather sofa set, large entertainment center and even a wet bar with a compact refrigerator.

"Coke okay with you, Dean?" asked Frankie, poking in the fridge.

Dean nodded, accepting the proffered drink.

"Thanks, Frankie. I appreciate any help you can give us on what happened to your two friends." Taking a long gulp of the soda, he dropped onto the sofa beside the boy.

"Yeah, I'll help any way I can but I really don't know what exactly happened that day myself. One minute they were here, enjoying themselves and two hours later Dylan was dead and Isaiah was hurt," shaking his head in disbelief as tears rimmed his blue eyes.

"Okay, let's start with what happened while they were here and after they left. Rachel was so upset she didn't even want to talk about it."

"Well, we had been hanging out, killing time, watching some stupid movie Dylan had rented and when it ended, Dylan just stood up, said not a friggin' word and walked out. Went home to his place, grabbed his old man's acetylene tank, tied it to a bike and tried to fly the damn thing like a jet-bike off the ski-ramp in their lake. The thing smacked into him in the air and he drowned."

Dean watched the boy's agitated eyes flit to a photo of three boys on the video stand.

"That a picture of you guys?" Dean stood, moving across the room for a closer look.

"Yep, at the State Brain Brawl Championship last May."

Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise, "So these guys aren't usually goof-ups?"

"Naw, we all carried a 3.9 GPA or higher. I don't know how this happened. I guessed they were pissed at me because I kept dozing off during the movie. Took some meds for my allergies that day. Anyway, Isaiah, did the same thing! Just stood up and walked out without a word. Went to his Dad's bait shop, got a bunch of leeches and stuck 'em on his eyes!"

Dean couldn't hide the horrified twist of his features at that little bit of news.

Frankie shuddered slightly, "What an idiot! They still don't know if his eyesight is damaged. Now, his Dad told my Mom that he has to go to a shrink for help."

Dropping back onto the sofa, Dean sat open mouthed deep in thought. Suddenly a look of shocked recognition washed over his handsome face.

"Leeches on his eyeballs?! A jet-propelled bike? What the hell movie did you have? Was it JACKASS 2 ?"

Frankie shrugged, "Really don't know, man, sorry. I still have it here somewhere," getting up he shuffled through his collection of games and videos.

Frowning, he turned to scan the room. Walking over to grab his soda, he suddenly lunged toward something on the floor by the trashcan.

Triumphantly, he grinned, waving a plain-looking red DVD at Dean.

"Kid, I really need to see that DVD," Dean was on his feet extending his open hand.

"You can't."

"And why not?" Dean's green eyes sparked in an angry challenge.

The boy backed up a step, "No, dude, you gotta understand the disc is self-corrupting!" explained the teen as if the term was well-known. He paused to swig on his Coke.

"Listen, Frankie, my brother and I are both consenting adults. I'm sure it won't corrupt us anymore than we already are."

Frankie snorted Coke through his nose, spraying the bright red disc in the process, choking and laughing at the same time.

"Gimme the disc, kid. I promise we'll be careful with it."

"No, man..I mean it's got this self destruct thing. The disc erases itself after you watch it once. It's blank now. It's fried!" Wiping the Coke splattered disc on his jeans, he handed it to the hunter.

Dean accepted the disc, "You're kidding?" He turned the disc this way and that, snorting. "Thanks a lot, Frankie. You haven't a clue which video place rented this to Dylan, huh?"

Frankie shook his head, "Nope, didn't have a wrapper on it when he got here."

Dean nodded." Well, thanks again, man." He left the house, walking to the car, deep in thought, brow deeply furrowed.

Pushing his discarded jacket across the seat, he uncovered his forgotten cell phone. Triggering the message key, he heard Sam's tired but reassuring voice saying he was relaxing and watching a DVD. Figuring Sam was asleep by now, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

Standing in the motel lot watching the Impala move onto the highway, Sam felt antsy. The motel offered cable but no premium channels and he was in the mood for something with no disruptive commercial breaks.

Watching a white Yukon pull out of a lot across the road, Sam's interest was piqued as the vehicle cleared his line of vision. Nested in a corner of the little strip of shops across the road was a boxy looking black machine. The overhang obscured most of the top of the unit but Sam could make out the words 'video depot' in red neon.

The one thing that always rang true about Sam was that he had insatiable curiosity.

He crossed the highway with little difficulty, and headed across to the machine. As he drew closer, recognition lit up his previously drained-looking face. He could see the two wings on the sides of the machine displaying the available movie titles.

_Hey! One of those video dispensers! McDonald's has these things all over the place. Driven past a lot of them. Knowing how I've hated clowns since I was little Dean has never dragged me to McDonald's, but I always wanted to try one of the machines. Heard they were really cheap. Can't hurt to go take a look. What the heck!_

He was about twenty feet away when two bouncy thirty-ish ladies parked a van between him and the dispenser. Sam stepped around the back of the van, stood like a gentleman and waited, but the hunter in his brain listened carefully to their dialogue and observed everything.

As he waited, he read the placard that explained that these particular discs would self-erase eliminating the need to be returned anywhere.

How cool is that! Bet those machines at the clown's place can't beat that! Maybe Dean can rent something else later….

As the women left, he stepped up, made his selection and deposited a crispy dollar bill in the slot, leaning down to grab his disc.

When the evil chuckle emitted by the unit reached his ears, he frowned, looking up at the sign previously masked by the building's ornate overhang. It read : Red Devil's Video Depot.

_Shit! So NOT funny! _and made his way back to his motel room.

It was late afternoon as Dean finally reached the little red brick house that had been the happy home of Brenda and Bobby Lee Billings. He had crept cautiously through neighbors' backyards. The neighborhood seemed nearly deserted, but the snoopy roller-haired lady lived only a few doors away and he had no desire to be seen.

Within moments of stepping up to the back door, he had picked the lock and entered the kitchen.

He tread silently, noting the abandoned food still on the stove, the daisies overlooking the neatly set table, the wine bottle and glasses standing like silent sentinels. Entering the living room, observing the bloodied recliner and carpet where Bobby had rested after his vicious attack, Dean felt a pang of pity for the hapless couple.

The TV was now off, the DVD drawer stood open and empty, the disc apparently confiscated as evidence.

Dean was starting to develop a rather far-fetched theory on this little ongoing fiasco.

Moving into the bedroom, he looked around carefully hoping to find something the cops had missed. His thoroughness paid off. There, on the floor behind the wicker wastebasket, was something shiny.

_Yahtzee! Look at that! Gotcha!_

Leaning down to collect the crumpled piece of black cellophane with a Red Devil logo he smoothed it out on the dresser's surface. He could see it had held a flat, round object—a DVD, he was sure of it!

He left the house as quickly as he had entered.

Dean was getting a gnawing sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it certainly wasn't hunger!

If the boys repeated stunts from JACKASS 2 that could mean the carnival worker had re-done CARNIVAL OF BLOOD. …and this was PSYCHO!! Oh, my God!

Reaching the Impala where he'd hidden it down a quiet cul-de-sac, he jumped in, fumbling for his keys.

Flipping on the radio, he caught the end of a local newscast…

..._And locally in a bizarre incident, a twenty-three year old restaurant worker was found dead this morning--cause of death, an apparent suicide. Strangely he had amputated his own foot and died in his bedroom of blood loss!_

Dean nearly choked on his own tongue, _Oh my God. Damn! SAW!! SAW! Another god-damned movie!_

He grabbed his phone intending to call Sam. _This is big! This is evil! Sam has to check out some more police reports. He can…_

He paused, hating to wake Sam. He could just go to the motel and wake him up then. Another half an hour wasn't gonna make that much difference. Then, Sam's earlier message drifted through his mind.

"_I grabbed a DVD at this crazy, cool vending machine, gonna watch it and get some sleep…" _Sam had stated.

Dean frowned. _DVD? What DVD?_

"_No premium channels at the motel but we have a TV/DVD combo in the room…." _

He triggered the call button on his phone but panic surfaced as the ringing on the phone was interrupted by the sound of Sam's voicemail.

He tossed the phone onto the seat.

Dean's brain screamed. His breath caught painfully in his chest. He could hear the thudding of his own heart.

Frantically, he shoved the key in the ignition, slamming the car into gear, tires squealing as he tore away from the curb.

HOLY SHIT!!!! Sam!!!


	6. Chapter 6

Mesmerized Chapter 6 

Punching the gas pedal all the way to the floor of his metal monster, Dean heard the huge 385 horses roar to life, felt the thrust as the big car surged ahead with all the power the big motor could muster.

What he would find when he arrived at the motel there was no way of knowing. Would he get lucky and find that it was a 'safe' video? Would he find a sleeping Sam, the hangover so bad, that he's safely slept right through it?

Driving white-knuckled, Dean felt like he would explode before he was able to cover the seven miles back to the Wilson Court. As he drove, his mind spun through a treasure trove of movie-viewing memories, both past and present, searching for any possible scenarios of violence, any moment of mayhem.

_What if it's not ME Sam comes after? What if he got his hands on SAW or even something like Million Dollar Baby? Shit! What if Sam killed himself? I can't live with that! Damn, don't let that happen!!_

It became harder and harder to breathe. Rolling the driver's window down he gasped for air trying to keep his head clear. Forcing himself to regain control, Dean made his body slow his heartbeat, forced his lungs to take several calming deep breaths. He would be no good to anyone, wound up like a watch spring. He needed to keep his wits about him, switching into his 'hunter mode' he gathered his thoughts.

Returning to the motel at top speed was all that occupied Dean's foremost thoughts. His memories of all the bloody horror flicks he'd ever seen flooded him with a sense of gut-wrenching dread. His hopes of defending his own physical well-being while trying not to injure his baby brother existed only in a realm of absolute improbabilities.

Grimacing, he looked at his two strong hands gripping his baby's steering wheel so tightly that they appeared fused to it. Those same two hands that could very soon be responsible for hurting the little brother he was sworn to protect with his very life. At the same time, he knew there was the chance Sam could inflict serious damage to him, even kill him. With all the years of training, their father had subjected them to on their way to becoming soldiers in the war against Darkness, the hunters were certainly human lethal weapons. They could kill just as easily with their hands as with a man-made tool of violence.

Dean thought of all the bruises and gashes his body had endured as the result of all those sparring matches. Although well aware of Sam's great strength, Dean knew that he himself was superior in a combat situation. This situation added a hidden, unpredictable dimension, however.

If these discs were capable of mesmerizing or hypnotizing the viewer, were they also able to imbue them with a greater strength by the mere fact they might be incapable of rational thinking, feeling physical pain or emotion?

Dean was certain of one thing and one thing only, to win this fight, if indeed there was one, he would have to render Sam totally unconscious to save them both.

Suddenly the car in front of his hit its brakes, the red taillights glaring brightly in the early evening light. Another fifteen to twenty minutes and it would be sunset. Letting loose a string of obscenities, Dean slammed on the brakes hard to avoid a collision, forcing him forward, his chest making contact with the steering wheel.

"What the damn hell! Of all the lousy friggin' timing!"

Ahead of them on the road was the tail end of a rather large herd of Holstein dairy cows, being moved from pastureland on the right side of the road to the milking barn on the left.

_Dammit! Move out of the way! Shit, come on. Another four or five minutes friggin' lost. What if Sammy's hurt himself?_

As the last cow cleared the right lane, Dean beat on the horn, motioning the guy ahead to get moving. The driver began moving forward but not quickly enough for Dean. As soon as they had safely cleared the stalled traffic in the left lane, Dean rammed his foot onto the gas pedal and the motor roared like an attacking beast, as he steered around the slowpoke hell-bent on getting to the motel in mere minutes.

Again in control Dean searched through the memories of their many hours stuck in motels. His thoughts went to the kinds of movies Sam gravitated towards. Usually chick flicks, but in Sam's hungover, nauseated condition he didn't think even Sam's stomach could survive that choice. Musicals? Even in his state of agitation, Dean could see the humor in that. Mentally chuckling and physically smirking, he pictured Sam trying to sing him to death…maybe dressed as a giant flying monkey from _Oz!_

_No! We're Winchesters and would never be that lucky. Sam's not a horror flick kind of guy either. What the hell would he rent? Hmm..?_

Knowing Sam enjoyed historical stuff like _Last Samurai_ and _Dances with Wolves_, Dean was drawing a blank. It came like a news flash…martial arts! When they were young Sam had always been enamored with martial arts flicks, always trying to throw Bruce Lee moves into their sparring lessons.

As the 18 wheeler ahead of him turned off the roadway, Dean was surprised as the Wilson Court sign abruptly loomed into view. He'd made it!

The parking lot was awash in the orange glow of sunset. He pulled into the lot as quietly as the rumbling motor would let him, parking several spaces down past their room, not wanting to alert a possibly homicidal Sam to his arrival.

Sam would have total, unrestrained access to the weapons cache in the carry bag Dean had tossed onto his bed. Anything and everything was a very real possibility as far as potential violence went.

Dean had plenty of other weapons in the Impala's cavernous trunk, but he didn't want to hurt Sam, only to protect himself from serious damage. Thinking that anything he armed himself with could possibly be turned against him in battle if he lost possession, Dean decided that hand-to-hand might be his best defense.

Although knowing that his heavy leather coat would afford him an extra layer of protection, it also slowed him down somewhat and this could quite literally be a handicap he didn't need. If Sam was under some type of power's influence and as robotic as the other people had been, Dean knew his brother's strength might receive a boost from the condition he was in.

He quickly made his decision to face Sam with nothing more than his bare hands. Quietly he lifted the door release, pushing gently with his shoulder to widen the exit gap without the loud groan the door usually emitted. Successfully gaining his feet with minimal sound he moved silently onto the walkway about twenty feet from room 12.

Stepping around the massive ice machine next to room number 11 he paused leaning against its cold surface relishing the way it seemed to help him slow his heartbeat. Drawing in a deep breath, he eased towards the door of their room. Praying it wasn't locked Dean noiselessly tried the doorknob which turned freely in his tense fingers.

Dean calmed his racing thoughts and tried to control his heartbeat and breathing. He would need all his senses sharp to face this threat and win.

Placing his hand flat against the door's cool surface, he pushed slowly allowing the door to swing inward as smoothly as it could. He flung himself quickly into the opening throwing himself with his back against the open stretch of wall, attempting to trigger the overhead lights with the wall switch. Nothing.

Next to him the door slammed shut with a loud bang and a whoosh of air.

Dean jerked further to one side, eyes struggling to adjust to the near black room.

"Sam! It's me…it's Dean!" His head was slammed sideways as a rock solid right fist came out of the darkness and connected solidly with his jawbone. Stunned, he stumbled sideways, swinging hard into the dark and found a target. Though he didn't see Sam he knew he'd squarely landed a blow but no sound came from Sam.

He shook his head, throwing himself at the tiny outline of light around the heavy motel curtains, intending to jerk them open so he could see.

Before he had completed two steps, a well-delivered kick to his stomach doubled him over with a grunt, leaving him momentarily breathless. His arms closed automatically over Sam's leg before he could pull it back for a second kick. Dean balled his fist driving it as hard as he could into Sam's thigh. Not even a grunt escaped his brother's lips.

"Sam, please, for God's—" Without warning the stiffened edge of Sam's hand caught him sideways in the throat, gagging him, momentarily bringing a red flash of light and a helpless sense of suffocation. A second blow to the chest left him coughing and gasping for air.

He dropped to his hands and one knee, kicking out with his leg, connecting

with Sam's body once more and felt the taller man stagger slightly. It didn't do much to help.

Sam grabbed Dean and slammed him against the wall, taking advantage of his greater arm length to deal several blows to Dean's shoulders and chest without Dean landing a single hit in response.

Dean lunged toward the window once again, managing to break free of Sam's grip. He made it closer to the window but Sam was on him again in an instant.

The assault became more intense. Just grunts and gasps as they struggled. Closer now, to a light source, Dean could barely make out his brother's features as he moved in.

Throwing up his right forearm, Dean fended off the first blow, but the second caught him full in the face. Dean went momentarily blind, yelling, as pain exploded in the center of his face, his nose instantly broken, blood gushing from his flaring nostrils.

Staggered by the pain, Dean fell back, hands to his face. Another horrendous blow caught him on the right temple pivoting his body away from the attack. As he lost his balance he prayed against losing consciousness, struggling to keep his feet by catching onto the wall. Blood splashed and smeared everywhere he moved. Slipping to the floor, clutching at anything for support, his hand gripped at the cord for the curtains.

Light flooded the room as the curtains were torn apart.

Deans' eyes were blurred from the blow to his nose but even unfocused, the sight of Sam hanging over him chilled him to the bone. There was no expression on Sam's usually good-natured face, no spark in the blue-green eyes. There was nothing. Sam features were a living, breathing death mask!!

Perhaps the most horrific aspect of the battle was Sam's total silence. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead, trailing into the corner of his mouth, but there was no sign of pain. No sounds of rage, nothing. It was more than creepy!

"Sam!!" Dean gasped out. "Stop this! You can beat this, snap out of –"

A large boot sailed forward slamming into Dean's ribs. Despite the pain, Dean lunged upward catching Sam at the knee, twisting and thrusting at the same time. Sam was knocked completely off his feet, crashing onto Dean's bed and smashing his head into the headboard. Sam's eyes closed for a second.

Dean took a moment to suck in a breath, torn between relief and concern for his brother, hoping to God the fight was over. His head was spinning and he still couldn't see straight. His hands and chest were splattered with blood from his nose.

Like the damned robot in _Terminator 2,_ Sam's eyes snapped open.

Dean stiffened, "Aw, shit…" he groaned, trying to rise.

Sam was on his feet instantly. More blood flowed down his face from the gash delivered by the headboard and yet he never flinched, advancing on Dean.

Sudden fear filled the older hunter's pained green eyes as he realized that this was a fight to save his own life.

Sam held Dean's cherished, razor-sharp Bowie knife tightly in his right fist.

Dean scrabbled dizzily to his knees, looking for any thing that could be used as a weapon. There was nothing more lethal than a phone book and with Sam standing halfway between Dean and the weapons bag, none were reachable.

"Sam, don't do this…you don't know what you're doing!" He grabbed Sam's own roll bag swinging it up as Sam slashed out viciously with the razor edged knife. He kept that weapon honed to a fine edge knowing it could save his life, never dreaming it might be responsible for ending it as well.

Another kick from one of Sam's long legs threw Dean back against the wall, intensifying the pain from his broken nose. Dizziness washed over Dean and he slumped helplessly to the floor as Sam moved in for the kill.

The roll bag was jerked from Dean's hands. Sam stepped in to complete his task, to kill the creature before him. Sam shoved his brother against the wall with his own body, raising the knife, he slowly began to push it into Dean's chest.

Dean cried out as he felt the knife tip pierce his skin and begin to enter the muscles over his heart. He struggled to get his left hand around Sam's right wrist and tried to push back with all the strength he could deliver, face twisting, temporarily stopping the blade driving into him

His looked into Sam's blood covered face, trying to engage Sam's eyes but to no avail.

"Sam…" he wheezed. "Sam, it's me, man. Don't do this." Dean could feel the pressure in Sam's hand as the knife quivered in their twin grasps. "Please, Sammy, don't do this..."

The expression on Sam's face never changed.

Dean had to end this before it was too late.

Dean slammed his bloody forehead into Sam's jutting chin with every ounce of force he had left. The pain was unbelievable but the knife slid free of the bloody hole it had made in his chest as Sam was knocked backwards.

Sam swung mindlessly at Dean with the flashing blade.

Dean cried out as the knife sliced down the arm he blocked it with, shredding his shirt and parting the well-tanned skin beneath it.

Blood poured from the opening quickly slicking the surface of his entire sleeve. Dean used the searing burn of the pain as a catalyst to bolster his retaliatory strike.

Grabbing Sam's forearm in both of his hands he flung Sam headfirst into the wall, the Bowie knife tumbled to the floor. Kicking the knife towards the kitchen and out of harm's way, Dean moved in quickly to finish the job before he lost even more strength.

Yanking Sam to his feet with his good arm, he bashed his head into Sam's once more and watched gratefully as Sam's eyes closed and he slumped unconscious to the floor.

Dean staggered back, clutching his temples, grimacing. "Who says Sam's the only one that uses his head?"

Knowing he would have to act very quickly if he wanted to contain Sam's condition, he searched clumsily through the weapons bag. Finally with a growl of utter exasperation he dumped the contents on the bed. At last, at the bottom of the heap he found what he needed.

Moving to Sam's side, he rolled him onto his face. He pulled Sam's arms back and managed, with much pain and awkwardness, to get the handcuffs onto Sam's bony wrists.

With Sam restrained he moved to stop his own considerable blood loss. Retrieving Sam's clothes bag from the floor, he desperately dug, finally locating a bandana. With great difficulty Dean got it wrapped tightly above his bicep and using his good hand and teeth was able to tie it into a tourniquet.

He glanced at Sam, contented that he was no threat, Dean opened the laptop on the table starting running websites on hypnotism. Most of the information seemed geared towards either nightclub performers or medical use. Nowhere did he find data addressing how to stop its effects or bring someone out of it. Finally, one small line mentioning how shock could break the grip it had on the subconscious.

That one small line spoke volumes to the distraught Dean, he glanced at Sam's unconscious form one more time.

Walking into the small bathroom he turned on the cold water in the tub full blast. Stopping just long enough to wipe away some of the gore covering his face, he checked to see if he looked sufficiently normal to step outside.

Grabbing the large trashcan from the kitchen area he headed for the ice machine. Working quickly he filled the container and dashed beck into the room to dump it into the bathtub. Three more trips found him feeling weak and decidedly dizzy. Locking the door to the outside, he closed the curtains tightly and went into the bathroom to shut off the water. Gathering all the towels to avoid accidentally soaking them all, he moved them out to the kitchen.

Returning to Sam, he grabbed the back of his shirt for a one-handed drag to the bathroom. Mumbling weakly he patted Sam's bloody hair, "Sorry, Sam, but this is for your own good… and mine."

It took several minutes to haul Sam's dead weight into the bathroom and over to the tub full of icy water. Dean removed the handcuffs tossing them out of the room. Hooking his hand into Sam's left armpit, it took all the strength Dean had left to ease Sam up onto the ledge of the tub. Counting to three, he gave Sam a shove and jumped back to avoid the tidal wave.

Surprisingly, it took several moments for the ice bath to register in Sam's fogged brain, but when it did he went ballistic. Shrieking and freaking like a wet hen, he fought to gain his feet and remove himself from the source of his intense discomfort. Clambering from the tub onto the wet floor, his equally wet socks nearly launched him back into the tub.

Though he had inadvertently jumped back as Sam came to, Dean couldn't refrain from laughing, even though it made his nose and head start throbbing and pulsing with pain..

"Dean, what the hell? What a friggin' ass! Why did you…" his voiced trailed off as he caught sight of the battered, bloody Dean.

"Oh my, God, Dean!"

Sam came toward him, but Dean stepped back, holding up his hand warningly.

Sam stopped, puzzled. "Did you wreck the car? What the hell happened?"

"What movie did you to rent, Sam?"

Sam stared at him. "Huh?"

"What movie did you rent?" Dean repeated.

"I was gonna rent _Devour_," he replied, frowning "But then decided on that martial arts flick _Dark Assassin. _Never been that crazy about Chad Michael Murray. Now what the hell, Dean? What's happened to you?"

Dean looked at his little brother making hard contact with Sam's eyes. Staring so hard into Sam's face it made Sam uncomfortable. Happily the emotion on Sam's face and in his eyes was all he needed to see.

"Dean, what the hell is going on? "

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "I'm not sure you'll believe me." Moving like a tired bear, Dean dragged himself back to the table and sank down, with his head in his hands.

"Siddown, Sam," he said, with a groan, "We gotta talk."

_End Notes: My first combat scene….not sure it was bloody enough…What do you think??_


	7. Chapter 7

Mesmerized Chapter 7 

_**Wilson Court Motel 8 p.m.**_

Dean shuffled weakly to the TV and pulled the red disc from the DVD player then tossed it onto the table in front of Sam.

"Impala's fine, Sam. M'fine. Mostly. And that vicious piece of plastic is why we both look worse for wear. I have another one just like it in the car from Frankie and a cellophane wrapper that probably matches the one from this disc that I retrieved from the Billing's house."

Picking up a towel, Dean moved to wipe the blood from Sammy's face.

Sam was on his feet in an instant, glaring at Dean. "Tell me what happened!" he exclaimed, gesturing at Dean's battered form. "God, Dean, did I do this? Oh shit! Did I?" He clawed his hair and backed away from Dean.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, Sam, you did this, okay? But it's not like you wanted it to happen or had any control over it." He gestured Sam wearily back to the chair. "Now hold still, we both need some serious patching up. Let me see how bad that gash on your head is." His voice hardened. "Sit. Now."

Reluctantly, Sam retook his seat. Luckily the cut wasn't deep or terribly long. Once Dean had wiped away the blood it was a simple matter of applying a few butterfly bandages.

Dean's injuries were an entirely different situation.

Sam turned on the table lamp and moved to close the curtains, his mind feeling slightly fogged and overwhelmingly awash in guilt.

Turning to face the consequences of his recent uncontrollable actions, Sam stood dumbstruck at the degree of damage he had done to his beloved sibling's body. Even with his head down his long, shaggy brown hair couldn't mask the tears streaming from his blue-green eyes.

"My God, Dean," he stammered brokenly. "Look what I did to you." Lifting his anguished eyes to his brother's bloody face, Sam felt sick at heart. He found it impossible to look into Dean's intense green eyes, still centered in orbs tinted pink by the crimson fluid seeping from his broken nose and badly gashed right brow. Dean's cheeks already reflected the black eyes that would accompany his broken nose.

Dean shook his head, slowly, which was the only way he cold move it at all. "Sam, I told you-"

'Dean, holy shit, your arm!" Sam cut him off as his gaze moved from Dean's shirtfront bathed in gore to the bloodied tourniquet and sleeve dripping scarlet onto the floor.

"Dean, for god's sake, sit down before you fall down." Sam grasped Dean's good arm as carefully as he could and pulled him into the chair. "Take off your shirt and let me patch you up." Sam undid the bandana tourniquet and helped peel Dean's sticky shirt from his brother's muscular frame.

Taking in the full extent of Dean's damage, Sam growled in disgust, "How did I only get _one_ cut? For God's sake, Dean, didn't you even TRY to defend yourself?" his voice incredulous and strained.

"Sammy, I did what I had to do to get us both through this one." Dean grunted n pain as Sam worked, shifting away from him only to be roughly pulled back.

Sam's tears flowed even more profusely as he took in the long deep cut running the length of Dean's upper left arm, bleeding freely once the restricting cloth was removed. Raising Dean's bloody t-shirt he saw that most of the thick, muscular chest was untouched except for a deep piercing cut a little under an inch in length directly over Dean's heart. Sam scrunched his eyes shut as he realized what HE had tried to do to the one person who loved him more than life itself.

"Sam. _Sam_!'' Dean's voice had that commanding 'John' quality to it when necessary. "Sam, beating yourself up is not helping us at all. I need you to get a handle on this. Now."

Snapping out of his self-bashing reverie, Sam set about trying to repair some of his bloody handiwork. He brought the first aid kit to the table along with an ice pack for Dean's nose, utilizing some of the cubes slowly melting in the tub. He set the ice bucket full of fresh hot water on the table, seating himself beside Dean and the stack of towels. Wiping his still tearing eyes on his sleeve, he cleared his throat several times trying to find his voice.

"Dean, I'm sorry," he began in a low voice. "I had no idea something like this could happen. That I would… or could do this!" He paused abruptly. "What the hell _did _happen?" he demanded. Guilt suddenly overcome by anger. "Demonic possession? Demonic influence? What the hell would make me do a thing like this?' Sam's voice was edged in panic and pain, as he washed the wounds.

With trembling hands, he tried his best to suture the long deep gash his vicious attack had left down his brother's upper arm. How many times had that same arm comforted Sam, held him as a child, carried him, held back the terrors of this world even today? Sam sighed.

"Dean, what's caused all this?" Sam's voice barely a desperate whisper. " How could I…?" his voice trailed off.

Dean winced in pain, hissing as the needle again entered his skin. Resting his ice pack on the table for a moment, he used his experienced fingers to maneuver his nose into a straighter shape. Shaking his head ruefully at the realization that breathing would be difficult for a few days. Having black eyes would put a damper on any in-your-face activities and certainly on his 'chick magnet' status.

Wrestling his liquor flask from his hip pocket he raised it to his lips and poured a healthy slug of whiskey down his throat. For a brief moment he savored the burn of the liquor hoping for a respite from the ache of his injuries. Speaking through clenched teeth, he tried to hide the intensity of his pain from his guilt-ridden sibling.

"Sam..no. Not possession. Definitely not. Your eyes were normal in color the whole time. No coal black color except the pupils, which were pretty huge. But they were different somehow… dead.. cold-looking like nothing registered."

A deep grunt escaped him as Sam nicked a muscle beneath the skin. Sam frowned the blood kept flowing freely, making it difficult to see the targeted skin. Grabbing another damp washcloth he dabbed as gently as he could at the six inch gash he'd caused, but the blood continued seeping.

"Your face looked like it was frozen. All those people were on autopilot, just like you. I'd say it's demonic influence for sure. Can demons hypnotize? Put a person under a spell to do their bidding without full possession? I don't know if they can work that way…" Closing his eyes for an instant, he waited for a wave of nausea to pass.

"Do you remember anything at all, Sam?" Dean paused again bringing his silver flask to his lips, turning to look at Sam trying to get a read of his brother's facial expression and eyes.

Sam kept his eyes averted purposely concentrating on the wound. It was hard to see the horrible gash, all that blood, the exposed tissue beneath, but it was harder still to see the pain in Dean's weary eyes, the pain-knotted, bruised facial features. Sam couldn't bear it.

"Sammy, stop it! Right. Now." Dean gestured towards the wound. "You

didn't do this by choice. You had no control over yourself or this! Quit blaming yourself. We run risks on every hunt. Either or both of us of us could get seriously hurt. It happens. We deal with it. Enough said!"

"Figure there's something in or on those damned demonized discs that mesmerizes the person or people watching it. Not sure how or why but who the hell cares? We just really need to end this now before anyone else gets hurt or killed."

Sam face looked a bit more in the game as he was forced to focus on the hunt.

"Do you remember anything at all from Dad's journal or in all your reading at Bobby's, Sam, that could help us here? Anything at all?"

Sam finished tying off the sutures causing Dean to emit a loud groan. He immediately removed Dean's t-shirt to see what could be done with the area over his heart. Within a few minutes he had that dreadful wound cleansed, sutured and bandaged as well.

Frowning, Sam thought a few moments before replying. "Dean, other than a few good exorcisms and what he knew about Yellow Eyes, I don't remember seeing anything in Dad's journal. Bobby's books never mentioned anything along these lines, at least not the ones I read. Maybe we should call Bobby, he may know more from his reading. So damn many books." He snorted thinking of those mountainous tomes.

Sam carefully placed telfa pads down the length of the repaired arm injury after wiping away the oozing blood one last time. Lifting Dean's arm slightly away from his chest, he gently wound a gauze roll around and around until the pads and wound were fully covered and protected. Securing it with surgical tape, he still felt it needed something more.

"Thanks, Sam. Feels much better." Dean straightened in the chair, anxious to get on to important things. "Now, what the hell do we do with the Monster Movie Machine"?"

"Not yet, Dean." Sam rummaged in the kit for the Tylenol. "We actually may have one more movie to hunt down and I don't want you tearing that arm open again."

Dean turned a frown on Sam. "Say what?"

Ignoring him, Sam quickly cleaned up the medical supplies and repacked the first aid kit. Tossing it onto his bed, he started rummaging in the clean laundry bag, coming up with a fairly new pair of his white tube socks.

"Sam, what the hell?"

Grimacing in distaste, Sam bent to retrieve Dean's bloodied Bowie knife from the floor. Carrying it between thumb and forefinger as if it were a dead and repulsive thing, he rinsed it off in the bathroom sink. Coming back to Dean he laid it on the table in front of him.

"Cut half the foot off of them, Dean. I want to slide one of them up onto your arm like a sleeve. The heel will hug around your elbow and the calf part will keep the bandage in place. We'll use the spare one later." Seeing the odd look on Dean's face, he added,

"Please? It'll make me feel better. Okay?"

"All right, Nurse Nancy, whatever floats your boat." Dean complied, grasping the knife, cutting the socks, cooperating as best he could in helping Sam with application of the improvised protective sleeve. Actually if his arm weren't aching so badly he would have hugged Sam for the ingenious creation, it took so much of the pressure away.

Glancing into Sam's questioning eyes, Dean switched on his brightest back-to-business-as-usual grin.

"Damn, Sam! You're always giving me a sock in the arm but this is the first time I can say it actually feels good."

Switching gears, he motioned for Sam to sit. "Okay. Now, please, what's this about another movie to look for?"

Sam plunked down and cocked his head. "Okay, You're Mr. Movie Whiz, I need to know about a flick I saw two ladies renting. They were talking about coaching a two-day camp for cheerleaders starting tomorrow. They rented a movie right before I did and were laughing about how perfect the title was on their 'oldies' selection."

A look of deep concern clouded Dean's tired face. "Shit, Sam, please tell me it wasn't called _Cheerleader Massacre "_old but still around."

Sam's taut face relaxed into a relieved grin. "Naw. It was just called _Cheerleader Camp_ guess we're safe." Dean's head jerked up as Sam sat back a little. "No massacre." He brushed his hair back from his eyes. "What?" he asked, seeing the horrified look on Dean's face.

"Shit, Sam! That movie's worse than the other one! Hot chicks, yeah, but it's a staple on Halloween Slasher festivals! More blood than a slaughterhouse! You never saw it?" he said in disbelief.

Dean snorted as Sam shook his head. "I don't suppose your two ladies let it slip as to where this cheerleading get-together will take place, did they?"

Sam frowned beneath his unruly mop of hair, momentarily replaying the scene from the video rental in his mind. "Nah, Dean, no such luck."

"What exactly did they say?" he felt odd having to coax bits of information from Sam, deciding the hypnosis had put a damper on Sam's usually quick mind.

"Well, the one said she was going to the gym right away to get things set up for the girls she wanted the movie for entertainment 'cuz she was gonna sleep in the gym. The other was going to drop her off there and be at the gym tomorrow morning at 8:00 because the girls were arriving at 8:30." Sam shrugged. "That's pretty much all I know."

Dean nodded. "Okay, so we have some time then. We can take her out before anyone else dies. Grab the phone book we'll see if any school website is pushing the cheerleading camp. First things first, though." Dean pushed to his feet with an effort. "Let's call Bobby and then at least put that damn mechanical bitch, as they say in showbiz, "on hiatus". We need to contain it tonight. We can't have it dispensing any more death. Where the hell is this damned thing anyway?"

Sam led the way to the window and opening the curtains pointed to the little plaza across the road. The plaza was dark, but the red neon sign was still visible peeking from under the roof overhang.

"S'okay, Sam call Bobby and I'm gonna go unplug that bitch 'til we can do something more permanent." Trying to spin on his heel towards the door, Dean gasped as he staggered almost hitting the wall. His head was buzzing like a hive full of bees. Dizziness and nausea threatened to overtake him.

Sam was at his side in an instant, guiding him to a chair. "Sit back down, Dean, it's too much blood loss."

Feeling almost embarrassed Dean gratefully slid onto the solid surface. He leaned forward slightly using his good right arm to support his wobbly head.

"You need to rest and get something to eat." Sam opened the fridge and grabbed one of the little bottles of orange juice he had purchased, popping the cap and handing it to Dean. "Drink that, you'll feel better."

"Thanks," Dean tipped the bottle back and drank . "I think there's some cheese and cold cuts in there," his voice suddenly uncertain and shaky.

Sam rummaged quickly and set a plate in front of Dean. Patting Dean's shoulder he headed for the door, "I'll be right back after I pull the plug. You eat a little something now and then we'll call Bobby together. We can order a pizza so you can eat something more solid."

Dean responded with a weak grin, at least it wasn't a damned salad!

Twenty minutes later, Sam was tipping the pizza guy and they were both feeling more at ease. Dean had sucked down 2 cups of coffee with plenty of sugar at Sam's insistence hoping to boost his blood sugar and after a few slices of soothing cheese pizza seemed more like his old self.

Sam had tried Bobby's cell number but wound up leaving a message. Knowing Bobby was their resident demon specialist he expected a quick callback. Mention 'demon' and Bobby was on it like white on rice.

Repositioning the table and chairs and with the lights on low, the two hunters had a clear view of the DVD demon across the road. Seeing a truck pull up to look at the now unplugged machine forced Dean into action.

Seizing the pen off the motel desk, Dean tore the pizza box cover free and in large block letters scrawled OUT OF ORDER on the improvised cardboard sign retracing each letter several times for emphasis. He made his way to the weapons bag and began blindly fishing around the interior.

"Dean, what the hell are you looking for?" Sam was puzzled.

"Aha!" with a look of triumph Dean returned to the table, his prize clutched in his fist. "A wise guy once said: I can fix anything with enough duct tape!"

With some clumsiness and great difficulty he found the end piece and tore off two long strips of the silver-gray tape, affixing them to the top and bottom of his makeshift sign.

"I'm wondering, Sam, you think it would have been more appropriate to write it in blood?!" Dean and Sam both chuckled at that.

Without saying a word, Sam went to his rollbag, thrusting his hand inside to search the four interior pockets. Locating his own Magic wand he presented it with a magician's manual flourish. Producing a white grease pencil with a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, he said, "I, too, follow the words of wise men, Dean. My wise guy said: The pen is mightier than the sword but in this case ink won't cut it."

Grabbing Dean's keys he went out to the Impala. He returned reverently carrying his mighty volume of The Key of Solomon, a gift from Bobby.

Dean crooked a questioning eyebrow in his direction

Sam smiled a thin grim smile, "Just in case we have people who think your sign doesn't mean them, I figure a little graffiti for added protection can't hurt."

To remove the still puzzled look on Dean's face, Sam lifted the cover of his book and found a page near the center. "Sigils to contain an evil being, just like the large Devil's Traps! I'll mark the four sides and top so the evil is temporarily contained, until we figure out the next step."

Dean's green eyes glowed in appreciation, "Geek boy to the rescue! Good one, Sam, actually great one. You'll need a chair for the top though. Even a Sasquatch like you can't reach up there."

"Can't I stand on the Impala's bumper and…" his voice trailed off as his sibling's facial expression darkened. Dean lowered his chin and his green eyes threw daggers in Sam's direction.

"So not gonna happen! My poor baby goes through enough torture and abuse without YOU inflicting even more on her…on purpose, for God's sake!" Dean looked absolutely livid as if he'd been personally offended.

Sam knew better than to argue about this particular subject. "She" was attached to Dean in a way few could understand. "She" was a family member as far as Dean was concerned. John had purchased her around the time he met Mary, and Sam knew Dean had cherished memories of their little family of four riding around Lawrence in the big black machine. That and the fact John had entrusted Dean with not only Sam but also the Black Beauty was central to who Dean actually was.

"Okay, so a chair it is." Sam grabbed his book and grease pencil and began to drag a chair towards the door. Dean and his tape adorned sign followed in his wake.

Having finished securing the DVD dispenser, Dean helped Sam drag the chair across the darkened road and back to their room. Settling onto his bed at Sam's urging, Dean prepared for a four hour sleep shift, forcing Sam to swear to wake him at 2 a.m. so Dean could take over for his turn to watch the machine for any signs of additional weirdness.

Deciding to change shirts to be as comfortable as possible through the long night ahead Sam began pawing through his bag. Noticing two knife cuts in the side wall Sam held up his mutilated bag Dean to see, "Do I want to know what happened here?"

"What can I say, man, it was me or the bag. For a few minutes you liked the bag better." Dean shrugged.

"So, Dean, now that we figured out what's behind this horror movie we're trapped in, who do you think is behind the machine?" Sam turned from his sentry post at the window.

"Been thinking about that, Sammy. Shit, you were there on that set in Hollywood with Tara and the gang. Damn, there are so many sleazy movieland types just itchin' to sell their souls. If we want to waste time speculating it could "a cast of thousands" as they say," he paused, at the thought of the days, maybe months of research that might take. _So not going to happen!!_

"You know the rule. Shoot first, ask questions later! I say we just destroy the sonuvabitch. Exorcize the power source and smash that damned thing. The quicker we turn that into a recycling block, the safer the 'viewing audience' will be," Removing the ice pack from his face, he turned his head on the pillow to smile at Sam, waiting for his input.

Sam scrunched up his damaged forehead, as he dragged his chair into a better spot to see the plaza across the road, "Yeah, you're right. We could spend weeks trying to track down whoever's behind this. At least we can keep it from doing any more damage."

Pausing to stare at his silent phone laying on the table, "Damn, wish Bobby'd call. I was thinking we could drag that thing to a local junkyard for crushing if you could swipe a truck to put it in…or my preferred way to handle it would be to go to Singer's Salvage." He glanced over at the reclining older hunter, expecting him to choose the first option.

Knowing his brother to always be the "man of action", Sam had guessed Dean would want to handle this as quickly as possible. He expected to have the road trip with the monster machine 'shot down in flames', since Dean could easily handle swiping and driving a tow truck.

"Yup, thinking along those same lines, Sam. There are some things we gotta do without the risk of interruption." His blackened green eyes locked on Sam's surprised face. "One thing that seals the deal on a trip to the Dakotas, is a patch of consecrated ground at the back of the salvage yard. Don't know if Bobby ever mentioned it to you, but while you were at Stanford, he and Dad helped Pastor Jim set up a consecrated area to bury some haunted artifacts. I figure planting this thing in holy ground might be an added safety precaution. An exorcism, compaction and burial without an audience."

"Didn't know that about the grounds, Dean. Great idea. Just have to figure out how to get it there," smiling at how his older his brother never ceased to amaze him with his grasp of things.

As if on cue, Sam's phone began to vibrate and ring. Glancing at the caller ID he broke into a pleased grin, "Bobby!"

Dean smoothly sat upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned anxiously towards his brother, his hunter's curiosity in high gear.

Sam flipped the phone open, "Oh hey, Bobby, Been waiting on your call."

_End Notes: not a lot of action, but some necessary angst and dialogue._

_PUHLEEZE review……_


	8. Chapter 8

Mesmerized Chapter 8 

_**Wilson Court Motel – 11 p.m.**_

Dean's usually handsome face was assuredly looking worse for wear.

He was quickly made aware of just how bad a beating he'd taken at Sam's hands while attempting to frown.

Being a third party to a phone call was a frustrating position for Dean.

Sammy's questions to Bobby and responses to Bobby's queries left Dean uncomfortably out of the loop. He could only surmise what was being said at Bobby's end. Not being in control always drove him crazy!

Despite his headache and painful wounds, he was squirming and antsing around like a little kid waiting to be released from the timeout chair. He tried shooting anxious looks in Sam's direction, tried arching his brows to indicate he wanted to be privy to what was being said right then. But he was finding that his facial damages were not conducive to his usual forms of non-verbal communication.

Finally Sam held the phone away from his mouth for a moment, "Did you want to say anything to Bobby, Dean?"

Lunging forward so quickly that he almost fell off the bed, Dean accepted the phone with such enthusiasm, that Sam leaned back in his chair to avoid a collision.

"Bobby, yeah man, thanks for calling back. Sounds like Sammy pretty well covered what's going on here…Yeah, weirder than shit. Nothing on your radar either about a case like this before?" a pause.

"So, if we can figure out how to get this damned machine to your salvage yard can we plant it in that hallowed plot?"

"You what? Really? " Dean paused, smiling, his eyes closing for a moment as if a prayer had been answered. "Yeah. Great. You're really close then."

"Hell, Bobby, that'd be friggin' fantastic! We'll be right here waiting. Call us when you get near the Wisconsin state line, 'cuz we're only five miles from it. Yup, Wilson Court near Bristol . 'Kay. Talk to you then."

Dean snapped the phone shut with a relieved smile. "I swear to God, Sam, only time the Winchesters ever seem to 'get lucky' is when we get Bobby Singer involved. Whadya figure the odds were that Bobby'd be headin' our way?!"

Even sullen, guilt-ridden Sam was able to muster a smile over their good fortune. "Yep. Got that right. Good ol' Bobby."

"Said he just finished a hunt in Michigan with some old hunter named Edwards. He say what they were after, Sam?"

"Yeah. Got a couple of nasty werewolves near Saginaw. Said he went because Edwards couldn't do it alone."

Dean nodded his weary head stifling a yawn, "Never hunt alone. Dad sure beat that one into our heads."

"Bobby figures he'll be here in about two, maybe two and a half hours. Suggested we load up that damned machine while it's still dark and he'll head on out to South Dakota and we can catch up later. Sounds good to me. That work for you?"

Dean nodded in assent, "Yeah, Bobby'll be long gone before anyone misses that thing."

Hoisting his legs up onto the bed Dean laid back against the oversized pillows sighing gratefully. Without taking his eyes from the ceiling he asked, "Sam, you sure you're okay for the watch? I could do it with a pot of strong coffee…"

"Dean." Sam's face took on an exasperated, impatient frown. " Man, get some rest! I want to do a bit of research on that exorcism rite I found anyway. See if it works on inanimate objects. I'm going to see if I can find info on the school for tomorrow, too. Sleep. I'll wake you when Bobby gets here."

Dean settled into the pillows, eyes drifting shut. Sam sat quietly watching to make sure they stayed closed.

Trying his best to do nothing that he knew would patently snap Dean into a fully awake and aware state, Sam tried to stay alert and observant. Desperately needing caffeine, he had opted for a couple cans of Coke from the vending machine near the office. Coffee would have been his first choice, but Sam was fearful that even with Dean's broken nose and obstructed airways the smell of fresh coffee would have sent a wake-up signal to his brother's brain.

Sam had kept his watch with intense determination, making busywork for himself on his laptop in between watchful glances at the incapacitated demonic machine. He had even mapped the quickest least obstructed route back to Singer's Salvage Yard. Feeling quite pleased with himself when he located a floor plan for the high school to facilitate the hunt for the cheerleading coach. And the best news was, according to The Key of Solomon, that exorcism rite would do the trick.

Around 1 a.m. the entire town seemed to coast into its sleep mode and Sam began hoping Bobby would arrive soon. Even the caffeine-laden drinks were not helping as boredom and drowsiness set in. Sam finished with his research and began to noiselessly pace the room pausing each time he neared Dean's slumbering form. Tears welled in his eyes as he took in the ravaged face and bandaged injuries.

_How the hell_ _does he keep putting me first? Oh my God, I tried to stab him through the heart and he still refused to fight fire with fire!! I love him so much, he's all I've got and I almost destroyed him!_

Sam wanted so badly to run away from the guilt of what he had done and what he had tried to do. How could he ever convince Dean that nothing like this could happen again?

Going to his wallet on the dresser, he fished around in its recesses until he found the small amulet Bobby had given him after the demonic possession he had endured when Steve Wandell had died. He studied the small metal disc wondering if wearing it on a chain could have prevented his attack on Dean. He made up his mind to buy a chain as soon as he could.

As he fingered the little round object, lights entered the parking lot. Squinting into the outside darkness, Sam could make out the hulking shape of Bobby's vehicle. Deciding to intercept Bobby so as not to wake Dean, Sam moved towards the door.

He was going to open the door and step outside but Bobby had already parked somewhere out of view and was slipping into the room as the door cracked open. Sam was always amazed by this man, for an old guy, Bobby moved like quicksilver!

Injuries were something Bobby dealt with on a regular basis and he was usually unaffected by the severity of wounds, unless those wounds manifested themselves on a Winchester.

Glancing over at the sleeping Dean, Bobby felt his heart catch in his throat. The badly gashed forehead, the swollen broken nose and blackened eyes along with the bandaged chest and arm told the eldest hunter just how serious this battle between the boys had been!

His eyes floated briefly to Sam's nearly unmarked face and body. He knew that Sam would carry this guilt for a long time, making it more imperative than ever for them to bundle up that monster and destroy it. The faster it was in the crusher and in the ground the sooner the boys could begin to heal.

In an unspoken agreement allowing the sleeping hunter to rest while he had the opportunity, Sam and Bobby silently exited the room. His hand on the knob Bobby pulled the door closed with the knob twisted to avoid even a click as it caught. Nodding in the direction of the far corner of the building Bobby lead the way to the truck.

Climbing back into his old trustworthy pickup truck with a heavy sigh, Bobby motioned for Sam to climb in on the passenger side. Following Bobby's lead Sam slid his long frame onto the seat beside the old hunter without closing the door.

Starting the motor as quietly as possible the older man guided the vehicle across the motel lot and onto the empty road where they both closed their doors.

"Okay, Sam, where the hell is this beast?"

Sam pointed across the road at an angle towards the offensive pile of grief. "It's pretty damn big, Bobby. Do you still have that old winch on the back of the cab?"

"Yep, sure do, kiddo. This thing's not bolted down or nothin' right?"

The old hunter turned to look at Sam as they pulled across the road. "Well, good thing is who'll give a shit if this thing gets a little dinged and scratched when we load it up." They shared a laugh at that.

Entering the small plaza, Bobby swung the big truck in an arc backing it up to the curb in front of the video dispenser. The hunters scrambled out of the truck and stood looking at their quarry.

"Nasty looking piece of shit, ain't it? Hard to believe something so ugly and plain could cause so damned much trouble." Bobby stated things so simply that Sam couldn't help chuckling.

Reaching out, Bobby laid the flat of his palm on the face of the unit. Both of them jumped back startled as the demonic force within let loose a long, threatening snarl causing the machine to scrape forward several inches.

Pulling his hat off his head, Bobby ran his calloused hand through his hair a couple times before yanking the ball cap back into place. He calmly studied the thing in front of him.

Letting loose a derisive snort, Bobby turned to Sam grinning, "Shit, Sam, maybe if we piss it off bad enough it'll move its own sorry ass over to the truck!"

The still growling machine fell silent.

Bobby arched an eyebrow at it, "Obstinate bastard, eh? No cooperation? Don't matter 'cuz you're history."

Bobby moved back to the truck, dropped the tailgate and clambered up into the truck bed. After a few moments of poking around accompanied by metallic clanking sounds, he jumped back onto the walkway, the winch tow chain clasped in his big old work hands.

"Gonna be a bitch yanking that sucker far enough forward to wrap that chain around though, Sam. Hope you got a strong shoulder to toss in the mix."

As the two men stepped to either side of the demonic device a voice came out of the darkness. "Thinking about cutting me out of the deal, boys?"

Dean stood beside the truck, "I may not be Arnold Schwarzenegger but I've still got one good shoulder and two strong legs to push!"

Glancing at one another, both Sam and Bobby knew it was futile to argue with Dean.

Dean grinned, knowing he'd won by their mutual silence. "Those side wings lift off the thing sorta like tongue and groove. Scoped it out when Sam was drawing the sigils earlier."

Nodding, Bobby mumbled gruffly, " Was just wonderin' about that, Dean."

He looked at the younger hunter's ravaged body. "Sam's message had mentioned you boys had tangled over one of them damned discs. What the fuck did you rent "_Texas Chainsaw"?"_

Dean smiled ruefully, "Naw, I shoulda been so lucky. This was more like "_Karate Kid Goes Darkside"."_

Seeing Sam's discomfort Dean immediately changed the subject. "Come on let's get this sonuvabitch locked and loaded."

Ten minutes later in spite of the renewed growling, they'd removed the display wings, eased the metal mass away from the wall and had it winched right into bed of the truck.

Sam applied another sigil to the machine bottom as a precaution, tossing the wings in beside the unit, they then tarped and tied the thing to protect it from prying eyes.

Slamming the tailgate shut, Bobby gave the boys an appraising look. "If you boys are sure you can handle the clean-up here, think I'll be moseying along. Killed those hairy beasts last night and after we got 'em burned went back to the motel and slept all day. You know I prefer night drivin' anyway."

Sam scowled at the now silent hulk in the truck bed, "Bobby, you sure? We think it's contained but… "

"Tell you what, … you boys make me some coffee and we'll plan the route so's you'll know where I'll be. I'll call every four hours to check in. When I get home I'll park the truck over that hallowed spot til you boys get there."

His wise eyes slid from one face to the other searching for agreement. The young hunters nodded in tandem.

" Good. Ya got coffee right?"

Dean's pearly whites sparkled in the dark. "Is the Pope Catholic?"

They all laughed as they piled into the truck cab.

_**Wilson Court Motel 2:30 a.m.**_

Twenty-five minutes later Bobby had said his goodbyes and was heading down the black ribbon of road into the night.

Sam made no mention of the fact he'd seen Bobby surreptitiously pour a little Holy Water into Sam's cup of coffee before he'd carried it from the kitchenette. Privately he was glad the old hunter was always so careful and knew it was his own way of protecting them all. Sam was probably more relieved than Bobby when it produced no adverse reaction.

For once Dean posted no protest when Sam insisted they both could do with a little shuteye. Bobby had been concerned enough about Dean's nose that he'd made some minor adjustments despite Dean's pained grumbling, and the renewed pain left him feeling worn out.

In keeping with the promise they'd made to Bobby to keep Dean's broken nose iced overnight, Sam prepared another ice pack and handed it to Dean once he was comfortably lying in bed.

Not five minutes passed before both hunters succumbed to their exhaustive, harrowing day.

Dean snapped awake to the sensation of drowning! His solid sleep had finally ended in a dream where he was suddenly and inexplicably wet and breathing in water!

Sitting bolt upright blinking his eyes rapidly to adjust to the semi-darkness he felt rather than saw the cause of his dream. His ice pack had melted in the night and the plastic baggie in which it was encased had sprung a leak. Snorting aloud at the silliness of the dream, he heard Sam sit up quickly in the bed near the wall.

"Dean, everything okay? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Sammy. It's okay. Just woke up to find out I 'wet' my bed last night!" Dean chuckled.

Sam's head jerked in Dean's direction bug-eyed, jaw dropping nearly to his chest, "What? You did what last night?!"

Dean grinned at the incredulous Sam, "Just joking, man. Seems my ice bag sprung a serious leak a while ago."

Tossing the wet towel and baggie onto the table, in one swift move Dean used his good arm to sling his soggy pillow onto Sam's head.

"Jerk!" mumbled Sam flinging it to the floor.

"Bitch!" Dean answered instinctively. Snagging his watch off the nightstand Dean's mischievous grin was turning to a concerned frown.

"God, Sam! We really slept in. It's nearly 7:30! What time did you say the Cheer Camp starts?"

Sam scrunched up his now wide awake face, "Erm, it was 8 o'clock for the second coach…. and uhhh..8:30 for the girls! Damn, we gotta get out there!"

Shifting into high gear Sam opted to skip the usual morning shower, tossing on some deodorant and fresh clothes, then turned to help Dean. Judging by how hard and uncomfortable it was getting Dean's stiff body and injured arm into a clean T-shirt, they decided to eliminate his flannel shirt and jacket.

Dean grabbed the weapons bag with his good arm, heading for the door. "We'll be back before checkout, just grab what you need. Let's get this show on the road!"

Slamming the doors of the Impala in unison, the boys took a moment to formulate a final plan. Per Dean's plan, he would enter the building in search of the coach and Sam would keep a lookout for the girls. Sam tried to protest saying Dean's arm was not up to dealing with the mesmerized coach, which Dean promptly shot down with the observation that Sam's soft heart usually led to him not wanting to injure a human, even a possessed one. As Dean pointed out that would not be effective against the lady coach. Sam reluctantly agreed.

Turning onto the highway they both smiled at the empty spot in the shopping plaza previously occupied by the demonic dispenser.

"God, Dean, Bobby sure came through for us. So glad that thing is gone." Sam smiled, "Oh by the way, he left us a quick 'I'm okay' message around six."

"Yup, all we have to do now is clean up this little mess, clean up our room and turn this place into a memory." With a determined look on his battered face, Dean gunned the big motor heading for the high school.

A few minutes later as they were passing the little convenient store at Benson's Corners, Dean let loose a string of obscenities.

"What's wrong? What is it Dean?" Sam scrambled about in his seat looking out the windows for what had disturbed his brother.

"Shit, Sam! You missed it? Damn, two whole vans full of cheerleaders!

Must have stopped for gas and sodas. Shit! Shit! Shit! What the hell happened to teenaged girls always being fashionably late? Damn! The only thing that could make this any worse is if the other coach is running ahead of schedule too."

Tearing down the highway, Sam prayed against the presence of 'speed traps' as they called them in these little towns. Knowing that whenever Dean challenged 'the powers that be' to make things worse, they usually obliged, Sam's heart was in his mouth during the entire seven minute drive.

Luckily they pulled into the high school parking lot with no sign of the police or cheerleading vans behind them. Dean eased the big Impala around the long parking islands.

"Quick, Sam, which entrance? Fastest way to the gym…"

Sam quickly assessed the layout of the building against the mental map he had from the school website. "Down around the far end… there's an entrance there that has the gym within thirty to forty feet!"

Dean steered the car down and around to the far side entrance, slowed down considerably by the several large dumpsters full of debris from summer upgrades to the building.

Sam's eyes widened in horror as they rounded the last dumpster. "Damn, Dean. You always say it could get worse and it does! It's like a curse."

"Let me guess… that vehicle belongs to the other coach…" Dean face looked grim.

Climbing out of the Impala, the hunters took quick inventory. "I got my .45, if necessary I'll whack her on the head, Sam. Hand me the duct tape just in case. I guess I can toss her in a cold shower, it worked for you."

Moving quickly, Sam struggled out of his flannel shirt, "Dean, you gotta put this on to protect your arm a little more. I should have changed those bandages this morning, didn't expect to wake on the fly!"

Happily Dean didn't argue, he could see a lady just closing the glass doors, maybe they weren't too late. But the scene worsened ever so quickly, as horns sounded and the two vans pulled into the end lot!

"Shit! Musta had a shortcut!"

The girls piled out in a flash, fifteen cheering, screaming, wriggling bundles of hyper-hormonal energy. Someone started a school cheer and they all joined in.

A dismayed look slid over Sam's handsome young face, "Dean, how in hell do we stop that!?"

Dean's mind flashed to the one thing _ALL _teen-aged girls had in common… _boys!! _Dean's green eyes sparkled in his bruised face and his mouth twisted into malevolent grin, he caught hold of Sam's thin T-shirt and in one powerful yank tore it from Sam's muscular torso!

Whispering to his totally unprepared blushing sibling, "Sam, buddy, your turn to take one for the team."

Those nicely tanned, well-sculpted, gleaming abs under that innocent gorgeous guy face and those huge, heavily muscled arms were not lost on the gaggle of giggling females. Dean heard several '_ohmigods, aahs_ and _oohs_' and knew he'd done the right thing.

Turning to the advancing, now gawking, salivating girls, Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, "Hey, girls!! Come and get it!!"

The 'deer in the headlights' look on Sam's terrified face made it imperative for the retreating Dean to whip out the camera phone and snap not only a shot of that look but the ensuing, drooling, screaming onslaught itself. Dean could still hear the joyous, glee-filled cheers and screams as he grabbed the school door handles.

The thought of having to face Sam at the end of this was almost comforting when he stepped through those doors into the great unknown. Sucking in a deep breath, Dean moved into the hallway. Hearing running footfalls, he rushed into the main hallway in time to see two women, one running towards the closest doorway, the other advancing almost mechanically in the same direction gripping a baseball bat in a business-like manner.

_At least there's no chance I'm going after the wrong one! Let's see how quickly this gets done. God! I hope she was lousy at baseball_!

Tossing the duct tape onto the floor open hands extended he approached the woman, now loudly banging the bat against the locked classroom door. Gratefully he realized the other woman had found safe refuge. Hoping to distract the attacker, when he was within five feet of her he yelled, "Hey!"

She spun in his direction with an almost robotic motion, her glazed, empty expression mirrored the one he'd seen on Sam the previous day. It chilled him but also assured him of his course of action.

She advanced on Dean swinging the wooden bat with almost mechanical precision, pairing each step with another swipe at the hunter before her.

Dean jumped back another step with each swoosh of the bat. He led her towards the door of the gym, knowing once inside there'd be plenty of room to maneuver and potentially gain the upper hand.

He paused only long enough to scoop up his roll of tape. With a sickening whoosh the bat came within inches of his head. Gliding around the doorway and into the gym, Dean looked for something to toss as a distraction. There was a long table with a huge barrel shaped tub of iced Gatorade and very little else in the emptied gymnasium. Suddenly, his eyes found the perfect item, and he headed towards the large wire bin filled with basketballs. Fetching them two at a time he lobbed the balls in her direction. The bat connected several times with the oversized balls and he felt some relief that with each swing the woman appeared somewhat slower and less lethal.

After a dozen or so balls, Dean felt the time was right to move in on the bat-wielding woman. As he neared she swung rather tiredly at him, he caught a still painful blow with his good forearm wrapping his hand around the bat at the same time. With a sideways twist of the bat and then a sharp jerk forward he maneuvered her within reach.

Wrapping his bad arm across her shoulders and chest he drew her against his own body and yanking his pistol from his waistband, delivered a knockout blow to the mesmerized woman's right temple.

She crumpled to the gym floorboards like a deflated balloon. Dean grabbed the duct tape and tearing off several fairly long pieces bound her wrists and ankles. A third piece was used to cover her mouth just in case.

Heaving a tired sigh, he grinned at his now incapacitated foe, "Silence is golden and duct tape is silver. Oh, yeah… Lady, now all I have to do is find out where the showers are."

As he moved past the table heading towards the far end of the gym to look for the showers, an idea dawned so brightly it was blinding.

With only one arm functioning at full capacity it was a bit of a struggle but he managed to heft the large cooler of Gatorade above the woman. With a relieved grin, he tipped it forward " Okay, Coach, here's _YOUR_ chance to take one for the team!"

As the shower of green fluid and ice hit her, the woman responded with flashing, shocked eyes and muffled tape-restrained cursing. Seeing her wonderfully emotional response, Dean grinned in triumph, and headed for the hallway.

_END NOTES: More Sam to come …..and damaged Dean, and Bobby_… 


	9. Chapter 9

Mesmerized - Chapter 9 

Dean grinned triumphantly at having averted another death or maiming. Concentrating on cleaning up the last of the potentially lethal situation, he turned his attention to the cheer coach lying in the pool of Gatorade. She had a small contusion from where Dean's .45 had impacted her temple, but no other injuries he could see.

He chuckled ever so slightly thinking that the new commercial slogan for the sports drink…"_Is it in you?"_ had now become.._"Is it on you?"_

Other than looking uncomfortably drenched and not one bit happy about the situation, the small blonde woman appeared normal but her eyes darted about in confusion. Dean was sure his bruised and beaten face did nothing but add to her discomfort.

Taking pity on the unfortunate, pathetic creature Dean leaned down over her.

"Look, lady, I know you probably don't have a clue as to what just happened so let me give you the short version. Listen up 'cuz this is important! Yesterday you rented a movie from a machine that had some form of hypnosis on the discs. The videos caused the viewers to commit murders or hurt themselves or others. Just depended on the movie you picked. Anyway, you just tried to kill me and terrorized the other coach that came here. I'm sorry if you feel confused or scared but the only way to stop you was to catch you and shock you to your senses. A nice, ice-cold Gatorade bath was all I could think of in a hurry. So, now, you're cold and wet and hopefully back to being yourself, and the three of us are still alive. I'm going to leave you here to think about what I said for a little while."

Reaching onto the table the cooler had been on, Dean snagged a few paper napkins and squatting down beside her, gently and quickly did a mop up job on her face.

"Okay, since you seem okay, I'm going to go check on the other lady. You should know that you probably scared the piss out of her." The soggy woman flinched at this revelation. "When I showed up you were chasing her with a baseball bat trying to bash her brains in. I'm going to try to explain this to her but she might not be too happy with you for a while. Okay?"

Her rather frightened blue eyes blinked several times as she appeared to take it all in, nodding finally to let him know she understood.

"Where's the dvd? It's gotta be destroyed."

Unable to speak from behind the duct tape she inclined her head towards an open doorway on the opposite side of the gym, with a small gold and red sign over the opening indicating that it was the office. Dean forced his sore, stiff arm to flex slightly pointing out the door and saw her nod in quick confirmation.

Pushing himself upright he moved tiredly towards the door. As he got within the last ten feet of the wall, his keen ears picked up on the soft hiss emanating from the static on the television evidently still on in the gym office.

Stepping quickly into the small room he roughly snatched the offending disc from the open DVD player drawer. Without a moment's hesitation he snapped the plastic monster into two pieces and in one smooth move slid them into his back pocket.

Reentering the gym he realized that the woman was still regarding him with distrust. Deciding that her reaction to being set free would be unpredictable at best and possibly loud and attention bringing at worst, Dean opted to leave her as she was. Her friend could free her later.

Addressing her he gave a simple but wise directive, "Lady, if I were you I'd put some serious thought into what you're going to say to your friend."

He spun on his heel and glided swiftly out of the gym and down the hall to the locked classroom door that still shielded the other coach from any harm. Scattered across the shiny hall floor were the contents of a woman's purse, make-up, checkbook, and a smashed cellphone.

Placing his still aching head against the cool surface of the steel door he closed his eyes for a moment gathering his thoughts.

Clearing his throat, he began, " Lady, the other coach really isn't a crazy woman. There was a DVD she watched that made her get a little crazy. I've done something to change her back to the friend she was. Do you hear me? Ma'am, can you answer me, please?"

The school's silence was broken only by the loud, metronomic ticking of the hallway's large flat-faced clock.

Suddenly there came a loud scraping, screeching sound as the room-bound coach apparently moved some piece of furniture that she had used to block the door as an additional precaution.

A timid still shaky voice hesitantly came through the door, "Yes, I hear you. Are you saying she's okay again? Cyndi was fine last night but then this morning I barely walked in the door and she came charging at me with that bat. She got my purse and wrecked my phone, I think. How can I call the police? Who are YOU anyway?"

Dean smirked, breathing a bit easier knowing that the cops weren't on the way. He just needed to buy them a little more time so he and Sam could make a clean getaway and join Bobby in South Dakota.

"Well, lady, I had a friend rent one of those hypnotic dvds and knew your friend did too. I got hurt and didn't want you to get hurt too. Don't think you'll really need the police though." No point to mentioning anything demonic or supernatural to this civilian. Dean was sure she'd see her friend was all right and they'd find a way to move on.

That quiet voice on the other side of the door said a simple sentence, "Thank you for helping me."

_And that is what this life is all about, _he thought as a gentle smile graced his face. Taking advantage of the captive coach' s apparent trust, he pushed a bit further, "I left your friend, Cyndi, in the gym. She needs about ten minutes to gather her thoughts. Then you can come out and set her free when you're comfortable doing so. Okay?"

A still hesitant, "Okay…"

"Well, I've done all I can so I'm leaving. Don't forget…ten minutes."

"Sir,…? I'll do that. Again,…..Thanks."

Heading towards the outside door, Dean grinned as he imagined the sight of Sam climbing a tree to escape and keep the girls at bay. He stopped one last time to scoop up his roll of tape and stopped just short of opening the doors. Peering through the tinted panels of glass he chuckled at the sight of bare-chested Sammy in a sea of swirling skirted uniforms. Dean wondered just how long Sam was going to make him pay for throwing him to the wolves like this. Most definitely there would be hell to pay, this had been worse than the itching powder incident.

Inhaling deeply, Dean pushed thru the doors stepping out into the bright Wisconsin morning sunlight. Sam looked surprisingly relaxed as the girls apparently took turns running their hands over his muscular abs and posing for pictures beside him. He could hear Sam's voice and laughter above the girlish giggles.

Snapping a few more photos with his own phone, Dean got in fairly close without attracting any attention. He cleared his throat softly hoping to part the sea of cheerleaders as he advanced. Keeping his head low, he tried to get near the Impala without drawing too much attention away from his sacrificial lamb. He needed no photos being taken of _his _infamous face. His plan was to get to the car, start the motor, and get Sam to climb in. Simple, simple plan…

As he slid past the very first girl, he was horrified when someone screamed, "Oh, no, there he is! Poor baby!"

The girls were shepherded inside Sam's outstretched arms towards his older brother's now trembling form. He shot Sam a look of abject surprise and horror as the fifteen screaming, squealing females descended upon him en masse and began clutching at him.

"Oh, God. Look at his poor face! How horrible!"

"Poor baby, looks like a purple panda bear."

"That's awful. How could those guys do that?"

"Damn, I bet he's almost as cute as Sam!"

"He's got such pretty eyes and lashes. Look!" as this one pointed, she almost poked him in the eye.

"Oooh, and nice lips. What a waste!"

Someone tugged his t-shirt up and touched his flat belly. "He's built like Sam too. Dirty shame!"

A really beautiful little brunette got right up close squinting into Dean's face, "Are you sure you only like _BOYS?'_

"Sam told us how those guys beat you up for being gay! That's sooo terrible. It's really nice of Sam to stay with you and take care of you. He's a great guy! You're so lucky to have him."

At the girl's declaration regarding his sexual preference hit home he shot Sam an evil glare. Sam however only smiled the most angelic smile over the tops of the girls' bobbing heads. The prank war had fired its first volley. Dean bit back the denial he had been ready to deliver. It didn't matter what these girls thought of him. Not really… he cringed internally.

"Yeah, I'm lucky to have him for a brother. I sure am." Dean nodded his head towards the Impala. "Well, it sure was nice meeting all of you, but Sam and I are late for my doctor's appointment. Aren't we, Sam?"

Still not content with Dean's level of embarrassment, Sam twisted the knife a bit more, "Yeah, he's finally agreed to just to have a sex change operation so everyone will leave him alone. The doctor is waiting to start the hormone injections."

The flock of teens looked stunned and the brothers quickly scrambled into the protective confines of the big Impala. Rolling the front windows down to let in some cooling air, the hunters were assaulted by the squeals and catcalling of the girls as they bid the boys a fond farewell.

Guiding the big car across the empty lot and onto the main road, Dean glared in Sam's direction, causing Sam to simply melt into gales of laughter. The guffaws finally became chuckles as they cruised back towards the motel to gather their gear and checkout.

"Gay??!! Sex change operation??!! Damn, Sammy!" but Sam could see the glimmer in Dean's eyes even as he said the words.

"Come on, Dean. You deserved it! You threw me to the sharks for God's sake!!"

Dean grinned and chuckled at the way things had all worked out for the best. "Yeah, well, you're just lucky some of them didn't try to make us stay and see if they could 'change my orientation.' Right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that'd be Winchester luck."

They'd pulled into the motel lot, slid into their parking spot and split up as they opened the doors in unison. Sam sprinted towards the office to check out and Dean headed for the room where he packed their possessions, leaving only a clean set of clothes for each, so they could grab a quick shower.

Sam returned with not only two huge cups of fresh-brewed, invigorating coffee but some very large, very fresh cream cheese Danish as well. Dean groaned with delight, choosing to drop into a chair to devour his breakfast before he showered.

Sam jumped in the shower first so he could be ready to give Dean's injuries proper care before hitting the road again. It would be a solid eight-hour drive to Bobby's and he wanted to take no chances with infections in his sibling's wounds.

Forty minutes later, the brothers dropped their bags into the cavernous trunk of Dean's beloved Impala and turned onto the main highway, shouting out the open windows "Good-bye, Wisconsin."

True to his word Bobby called Sam's cell as arranged just as they left Bristol and then again four hours later as the truck and its cargo were safely moved onto hallowed ground on his property in south Dakota.

Driving the slightly more than five hundred miles to Bobby's, the brothers had some time to relax a bit. Knowing the machine was no longer a threat to the general public, allowed them some breathing room but Dean however continued to push the Impala to its limits. He would not be at ease until that 'thing' was totally vanquished and in the ground.

Other than stopping for gas and snacks, the hunters moved along swiftly and efficiently. The weather was cooperative and the traffic was fairly light on the back roads they chose to travel.

Seven and a half hours later, turning the big black car onto the road leading to Singer's Auto Salvage, Dean reached for the volume control flipping the radio completely off. No hunt was ever complete until the creature they fought against was totally destroyed. Once again in that hunter frame of mind the boys became re-animated.

In Bobby's last call he had requested that the siblings meet him at the blessed burial spot and from there they would all escort the machine to Bobby's old dependable hydraulic crusher. When cars had no further salvage value he used the crusher to cube them for scrap. They all felt the faster this thing disappeared into the crusher the better off they were.

Dean had taken that call and was certain Bobby had sounded awfully apprehensive. Wanting to be ready for anything, Dean braked to a halt as they entered the gates at the front of the property. Shutting off the big motor he climbed stiffly out of the driver's seat slipped the key into the trunk and with practiced ease propped up the false trunk floor cover and began rifling for supplies.

With a yawn, Sam stretched as far as the front seat would let him, twisting at the hips and shoulders to loosen the kinks his spine always developed during these long car trips. Satisfied only after he heard several loud pops, he reached into the back seat and brought forward the Key of Solomon. As his body moved into a forward facing position he gasped as he almost caught a sawed-off shotgun with his teeth. It was being handed to him by Dean, who stood outside the passenger door with his arms full of weapons and other tools of their profession.

"C'mon, Sammy, wake up. Grab that." He shoved not only the shotgun but a bottle of holy water at Sam as well. "I don't want any room for error on this one. Here's some extra salt shells…never can tell. This demonic machine has done enough damage and we don't know if it'll take this all lyin' down."

Nodding in agreement, Sam dropped the big book onto his lap and scrambled to grab at everything Dean was impatiently pushing at him. In his mind's eye he could picture many other hunts that had on the surface appeared so cut and dried, so simple, and suddenly without warning things had gone into a violent tailspin. He knew Dean was never _too _cautious. Carefully tucking the holy water into his shirt pocket, he stowed the ten extra salt shells into the pocket of his gray hoodie.

Dean clambered onto the seat beside him tossing his.45, his own Remington sawed-off double-barrel and another dozen shells onto the leather seat surface. Dean leaned forward eyes closed tight, fingertips massaging his sore temples for a few thoughtful moments, concentrating on gathering his thoughts, controlling his breathing and slowing his racing heart.

Sam made his own preparations in his own way, of course. His always began with a prayer to God or the angels or whoever watched over hunters to keep them safe and allow him to keep his beloved brother by his side a while longer. He, like Dean and their father, knew to get himself under total control, like a soldier going into battle. He opened the glove box, removed his Glock, ejected the clip to check the shell count, and snapping it back into place slid the pistol into his waistband. As he finished he cleared his throat softly.

On that cue Dean fired up the big motor and putting the car in drive moved down the road slowly, passing the old clapboard house with the Rottweiler, Rumsfeld, asleep on the porch. As they lumbered past, the big dog raised its head, recognized the vehicle and rolled onto his other side. Another quarter mile in they passed Bobby's old barn with the empty car shells surrounding the big old crusher. Dean arced out to the left and headed for the hallowed spot.

Another hour til sunset and Dean was anxious to get this over with while they still had daylight as their ally.

In the distance across a mostly open field Dean could see the old blue pickup truck and heading towards it he slowed to a near crawl, listening to the crunch of the dried clots of soil as the Impala crushed them beneath its wheels as they traveled to the hallowed ground. As they drew to within fifteen feet of the truck he strained his ears to pick up the sounds of the demon that had been so evident when the machine was first loaded into the pickup bed. He heard nothing.

Sliding the lever into PARK Dean pushed the car door open cautiously, standing he very stealthily approached the truck. A body occupied the front seat and he was fearful of what he might find. What he observed however brought a smile to his lips. Bobby lay asleep against the driver's door looking so peaceful, his quilted jacket encircled by his arms, as a child would snuggle with a favorite stuffed toy. It was the most vulnerable he had ever seen the elder hunter. Deciding to let the older man keep his dignity intact, Dean reversed his steps towards the Impala.

Picking up a few small stones he gently lobbed a couple at the windshield of the big old truck. Reacting to the soft tapping sounds Bobby immediately came alive, finding the vest in his arms he tossed it on the seat and climbed from the truck to welcome the boys.

Glancing at his watch, Bobby flashed a grin at the hunters, "You boys made damn good time. Musta caught a good tailwind." Rubbing at the whiskers on his chin, he squinted at the sun moving lower towards the horizon. "Better get this damn show on the road. Sam, you got that book I gave you?"

From his seat in the car, Sam raised the book into view.

"Alright, Dean, you lead the way and we'll get this thing taken care of." Bobby donned his old vest and climbed back into the cab and starting the noisy old truck motor, easing it towards the Impala.

With Dean leading the little caravan, they arrived at the crusher only minutes later. Between the three of them they had the rather bulky dvd dispenser slid out of the truck bed in nearly record time and standing upright where they could use the big old electromagnet to maneuver it into the crusher.

"Sam, we'll let Bobby do the Latin honors and we can stand guard til the exorcism is complete. Okay by you two?" Waiting til the other hunters had nodded their assent, Dean moved a few feet away, shotgun held in the crook of his elbow. "The Devil's Traps should contain it."

"Here, Bobby, let's get it over with. I already checked and the ritual will work on inanimate objects. So we're good to go. I marked the page already." Like his brother before him, Sam moved a distance from Bobby and the possessed machine.

The senior hunter stood stockstill about ten feet from the accursed object, dressed in his usual garb: jeans, sweatshirt and the quilted vest. His old oil-stained baseball cap sat squarely on his head the deeply curved brim hiding his eyes.

Clearing his sleep fogged throat, Bobby opened the book to the Latin verse for the exorcism and began, " Regnae Terrae…Cantate Deo…Psallite Domino…"

He got no further before the beast within the metal box responded to the Godly salutations with a horrendous roar and loud demonic growling. Looking at Dean in a mixture of wide-eyed fear and shock, the older man loudly resumed the chant, "Cantate Deo…Exorcizamuste…"

Suddenly the air seemed electrified, the wind began to blow, sand and torn bits of grass swirling about making it difficult to see. Even louder the beast growled and without warning there came a sharp crack like a pistol shot.

A dvd flew from the machine as if fired by a cannon. As it hit the dirt behind Sam up sprang a ghostlike apparition immediately identified by its leather apron and the huge chainsaw it swung like a sword. Dean spun towards the spot.

"Sam, behind you!" screamed Dean. Running towards Sam he tried to get an open shot at the image. The chainsaw came into contact with the old car Sam was standing next to. Sparks flew from the screaming metal surface. Sam threw himself headlong in the opposite direction, trying to bring his shotgun up and aimed.

Dean's shot hit first and Leatherface vanished into thin air!

"Omnis Ommundus Spiritus.." Bobby's voice rose above the din of the growling and wind.

Bang! Another disc flew from the machine and hit the ground only a few feet from Bobby's position. Freddy Krueger was suddenly visible and with a menacing snarl launched himself at the unarmed hunter.

The intent seemed to be to destroy the powerful book and as Freddy swung his blade tipped fingers towards the old tome Bobby tried to protect it by bringing it up against his chest. The bladed digits sliced easily through the brim of Bobby's cap and skimmed across the leather cover, just as both Sam and Dean fired into the creature.

With a whoosh, Freddy dissipated.

"Dammit, my favorite friggin' hat!"

A pissed look overtook his weathered face as Bobby continued. His Latin pronunciation perfected by thirty some years of hunting. He easily spoke the words written on the pages of the thick leather-bound text tightly gripped in his calloused hands. His deep tones could be clearly heard over the growling and booming demonic cursing emanating from the machine.

"Omnis Satanica Potestas…. Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii…"

Now the discs were flying more quickly as Dean dropped to one knee and began to pick off the discs with single shots as if shooting skeet. In the name of efficiency and in deference to Dean's injured arm, Sam stood beside his brother cracking the breech of one of their shotguns, pulling the spent shells and reloading before handing off to Dean in a continuous exchange. It seemed the discs could only unload their demons by touching ground.

"Omnis Legio.. Omnis Congregatio Et Secta Diabolica.." Bobby continued.

The wind screamed almost as loudly as the demon.

"Vade Satana Vade…Inventor et Magiste Omnis Fallaciae…"

At the order to depart the demon finally let loose and its angry boiling black shadow poured from the dispenser like a whirling, swirling living snake. In moments it was gone and all was deathly quiet.

Sam stepped cautiously to the machine, holy water in hand and splashing the blessed liquid in the sign of the cross onto all four sides repeated the blessing "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti. Amen."

When no reaction came, Dean moved to the crusher controls and turned on the power. Bobby waved his arm as he heard the hydraulic cylinders come online and signaled Dean to finish the job. The powerful electromagnetic swung out as Dean manipulated the controls and latching onto the metal roof of the beast lifted it easily into the air and arced it toward the crusher.

With a rousing cheer from all three hunters, Dean cut the power to the magnet and the metal machine toppled into the maw of the old crusher. Triggering the cylinders, the huge crusher made short work of the cubing process as the massive machine groaned and screamed under the metallic load.

When Dean retracted the crushing arms the hunters stood in a group grinning at the now ineffectual two and a half foot cube that had previously housed so much evil.

"Well, okay, boys let's get this sucker under a few feet of blessed dirt and I opt we go to town for some pizza and more than a few cold beers. My treat!"

Laughing and jostling one another they easily tossed the block into the pickup, deciding to leave the Impala there for awhile. Piling into Bobby's truck they were in a jovial mood. Bouncing down the short road, heading towards the burial plot, Dean suddenly broke into an evil grin.

Before Sam could react, Dean shoved his phone in front of Bobby with a grin. "Hey, Bobby, did I tell you Sam had to take one for the team this morning?"

Slamming on the brakes, Bobby grabbed the phone just as Sam's big paw tried to seize it.

Triggering the photo series, Bobby broke into a jovial guffaw, pointing first at the photos and then looking at Sam while mimicking Sam's look of terror as shown in each photo.

"Oh, Sam, these are priceless. You boys are such a team. Shit! I'll even spring for some shots of JD tonight!"

The old truck rocked as the hunters struggled to keep the phone from Sam. The prank war was on.

Chapter End Notes: Hope you all enjoyed my first foray into Chapter Stories……Hope to have another started shortly…….Please leave a review and let me know if the ride was worth it……………….

_MANY THANKS TO MY DEAR TERRY FOR ALL HER HARD WORK AS MY BETA_


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